Awful Disclosures of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery of Montreal

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Title: Awful Disclosures of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery of Montreal

Author: Maria Monk

Release date: May 1, 2005 [eBook #8095]
Most recently updated: September 22, 2014

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8095

Credits: Produced by David Moynhan, Lee Dawei, Marvin A. Hodges, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AWFUL DISCLOSURES OF THE HOTEL DIEU NUNNERY OF MONTREAL ***

Produced by David Moynhan, Lee Dawei, Marvin A. Hodges,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

[Transcriber's Note: The original page scans used to create this text
were illegible in places; the notation [illegible] has been used in the
text to indicate these places. Additionally, Chapter XIV was missing
from both the table of contents and the book; presumably this is a
printing error as opposed to an actual missing chapter.]

AWFUL DISCLOSURES,

MARIA MONK,

Of the

HOTEL DIEU NUNNERY OF MONTREAL.

Containing, also, Many Incidents Never Before Published.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

This volume embraces not only my "Awful Disclosures," but a
continuation of my Narrative, giving an account of events after my
escape from the Nunnery, and of my return to Montreal to procure a
legal investigation of my charges. It also [illegible] all the
testimony that has been published against me, or every description, as
well as that which has been given in confirmation of my story. At the
close, will be found a Review of the whole Subject, furnished by a
gentleman well qualified for the purpose; and finally, a copious
Appendix, giving further particulars interesting to the public.

I present this volume to the reader, with feelings which, I trust, will
be in some degree appreciated when it has been read and reflected upon.
A hasty perusal, and an imperfect apprehension of its contents, can
never produce such impressions as it has been my design to make by the
statements I have laid before the world. I know that misapprehensions
exist in the minds of some virtuous people. I am not disposed to
condemn their motives, for it does not seem wonderful that in a pure
state of society, and in the midst of Christian families, there should
be persons who regard the crimes I have mentioned as too monstrous to
believed. It certainly is creditable to American manners and character,
that the people are inclined, at the first sight, to turn from my story
with horror.

There is also an excuse for those who, having received only a general
impression concerning the nature of my Disclosures, question the
propriety of publishing such immorality to the world. They fear that
the minds of the young, at least, may be polluted. To such I have to
say, that this objection was examined and set aside, long before they
had an opportunity to make it. I solemnly believe it is necessary to
inform parents, at least, that the ruin from which I have barely
escaped, lies in the way of their children, even if delicacy must be in
some degree wounded by revealing the fact. I understand the case, alas!
from too bitter experience. Many an innocent girl may this year be
exposed to the dangers of which I was ignorant. I am resolved, that so
far as depends on me, not one more victim shall fall into the hands of
those enemies in whose power I so lately have been. I know what it is
to be under the dominion of Nuns and Priests; and I maintain, that it
is a far greater offence against virtue and decency to conceal than to
proclaim their crimes. Ah! had a single warning voice even whispered to
me a word of caution--had even a gentle note of alarm been sounded to
me, it might have turned back my foot from the Convent when it was upon
the threshold! If, therefore, there is any one now bending a step that
way, whom I have, not yet alarmed, I will cry _beware!_

But the virtuous reader need not fear, in the following pages, to meet
with vice presented in any dress but her own deformity. No one can
accuse me of giving a single attraction to crime. On the contrary, I
intend my book shall be a warning to those who may hereafter be tempted
by vice; and with the confidence that such it will prove to be, I
commend it to the careful examination of virtuous parents, and am
willing to abide by their unbiased opinion, with regard both to my
truth, my motives, and the interest which the public have in the
developments it contains.

I would now appeal to the world, and ask, whether I have not done all
that could have been expected of me, and all that lay in my power, to
bring to an investigation the charges I have brought against the
priests and nuns of Canada. Although it was necessary to the cause of
truth, that I should, in some degree, implicate myself, I have not
hesitated to appear as a voluntary self-accuser before the world. While
there was a hope that the authorities in Canada might be prevailed upon
to bring the subject to a legal investigation, I travelled to Montreal
in a feeble state of health, and with an infant in my arms only three
weeks old. In the face of many threats and dangers, I spent nearly a
month in that city, in vain attempts to bring my cause to a trial. When
all prospect of success in this undertaking had disappeared, and not
till then, I determined to make my accusations through the press; and
although misrepresentations and scandals, flattery and threats, have
been resorted to, to nullify or to suppress my testimony, I have
persevered, although, as many of my friends have thought, at the risk
of abduction or death.

I have, I think, afforded every opportunity that could be reasonably
expected, to judge of my credibility. I have appealed to the existence
of things in the Hotel Dieu Nunnery, as the great criterion of the
truth of my story. I have described the apartments, and now, in this
volume, have added many further particulars, with such a description of
them as my memory has enabled me to make. I have offered, in case I
should be proved an impostor, to submit to any punishment which may be
proposed--even to a re-delivery into the hands of my bitterest enemies,
to suffer what they may please to inflict.

Now, in these circumstances, I would ask the people of the United
States, whether my duty has not been discharged? Have I not done what I
ought--to inform and to alarm them? I would also solemnly appeal to the
Government of Great Britain, under whose guardianship is the province
oppressed by the gloomy institution from which I have escaped, and ask
whether such atrocities ought to be tolerated, and even protected by an
enlightened and Christian power? I trust the hour is near, when the
dens of the Hotel Dieu will be laid open--when the tyrants who have
polluted it will be brought out, with the wretched victims of their
oppression and crimes.

CONTENTS

* * * * *

CHAPTER I.

Early Life--Religious Education neglected--First School--Entrance into
the School of the Congregational Nunnery--Brief Account of the
Nunneries in Montreal--The Congregational Nunnery--The Black
Nunnery--The Grey Nunnery--Public Respect for these
Institutions--Instruction Received--The Catechism--The Bible

CHAPTER II.

Story told by a fellow Pupil against a Priest--Other Stories--Pretty
Mary--Confess to Father Richards--My subsequent Confessions--Left the
Congregational Nunnery

CHAPTER III.

Preparations to become a Novice in the Black
Nunnery--Entrance--Occupations of the Novices--The Apartments to which
they had Access--First Interview with Jane Ray--Reverence for the
Superior--Her Reliques--The Holy Good Shepherd, or nameless
Nun--Confession of Novices

CHAPTER IV.

Displeased with the Convent--Left it--Residence at St.
Denis--Reliques--Marriage--Return to the Black Nunnery--Objections made
by some Novices--Ideas of the Bible

CHAPTER V.

Received Confirmation--Painful Feelings--Specimen of Instruction
received on the Subject

CHAPTER VI.

Taking the Veil--Interview afterward with the Superior--Surprise and
horror at her Disclosures--Resolution to Submit

CHAPTER VII.

Daily Ceremonies--Jane Ray among the Nuns

CHAPTER VIII.

Description of Apartments in the Black Nunnery, in order.--1st
Floor--2d Floor--The Founder--Superior's Management with the Friends of
Novices--Religious Lies--Criminality of concealing Sins at Confession

CHAPTER IX.

Nuns with similar names--Squaw Nuns--First visit to the
Cellar--Description of it--Shocking discovery there--Superior's
Instructions--Private Signal of the Priests--Books used in the
Nunnery--Opinions expressed of the Bible--Specimens of what I know of
the Scriptures

CHAPTER X.

Manufacture of Bread and Wax Candles carried on in the
Convent--Superstitions--Scapularies--Virgin Mary's pincushion--Her
House--The Bishop's power over fire--My Instructions to Novices--Jane
Ray--Vaccillation of feelings

CHAPTER XI.

Alarming Order from the Superior--Proceed to execute it--Scene in an
upper Room--Sentence of Death, and Murder--My own distress--Reports
made to friends of St. Francis

CHAPTER XII.

Description of the Room of the Three States, and the pictures in
it--Jane Ray ridiculing Priests--Their criminal Treatment of us at
Confession--Jane Ray's Tricks with the Nuns' Aprons, Handkerchiefs, and
Nightgowns--Apples

CHAPTER XIII.

Jane Ray's Tricks continued--The Broomstick
Ghost--Sleep-walking--Salted Cider--Changing Beds--Objects of some of
her Tricks--Feigned Humility--Alarm--Treatment of a new Nun--A nun made
by stratagem

CHAPTER XV.

Influencing Novices--Difficulty of convincing persons from the United
States--Tale of the Bishop in the City--The Bishop in the Convent--The
Prisoners in the Cells--Practice in Singing--Narratives--Jane Ray's
Hymns--The Superior's best Trick

CHAPTER XVI.

Frequency of the Priests' Visits to the Nunnery--Their Freedom and
Crimes--Difficulty of learning their Names--Their Holy
Retreat--Objections in our minds--Means used to counteract
Conscience--Ingenious Arguments

CHAPTER XVII.

Treatment of young Infants in the Convent--Talking in
Sleep--Amusements--Ceremonies at the public interment of deceased
Nuns--Sudden disappearance of the Old Superior--Introduction of the new
one--Superstition--Alarm of a Nun--Difficulty of Communication with
other Nuns

CHAPTER XVIII.

Disappearance of Nuns--St. Pierre--Gags--My temporary Confinement in a
Cell--The Cholera Season--How to avoid it--Occupations in the Convent
during the Pestilence--Manufacture of War Candles--The Election
Riots--Alarm among the Nuns--Preparations for defence--Penances

CHAPTER XIX.

The Priests of the District of Montreal have free access to the Black
Nunnery--Crimes committed and required by them--The Pope's command to
commit indecent Crimes--Characters of the Old and New Superiors--The
timidity of the latter--I began to be employed in the Hospitals--Some
account of them--Warning given me by a sick Nun--Penance by Hanging

CHAPTER XX.

More visits to the imprisoned Nuns--Their fears--Others temporarily put
into the Cells--Reliques--The Agnus Dei--The Priests' private Hospital,
or Holy Retreat--Secret Rooms in the Eastern Wing--Reports of Murders
in the Convent--The Superior's private Records--Number of Nuns in the
Convent--Desire of Escape--Urgent reason for
it--Plan--Deliberation--Attempt--Success

CHAPTER XXI.

At liberty--Doubtful what to do--Found refuge for the
night--Disappointment--My first day out of the
Convent--Solitude--Recollections, fears, and plans

CHAPTER XXII.

Start for Quebec--Recognised--Disappointed again--Not permitted to
land--Return to Montreal--Landed and passed through the city before
day--Lachine Canal--Intended close of my life

CHAPTER XXIII.

Awake among strangers--Dr. Robertson--Imprisoned as a
vagrant--Introduction to my mother--Stay in her house--Removal from it
to Mrs. McDonald's--Return to my mother's--Desire to get to New
York--Arrangements for going

CHAPTER XXIV.

Singular concurrence of circumstances, which enabled me to get to the
United States--Intentions in going there--Commence my journey--Fears of
my companion--Stop at Whitehall--Injury received in a canal
boat--Arrival at New York--A solitary retreat

CHAPTER XXV.

Reflections and sorrow in solitude--Night--Fears--Exposure to
rain--Discovered by strangers--Their unwelcome kindness--Taken to the
Bellevue Almshouse.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Reception at the Almshouse--Message from Mr. Conroy, a Roman priest in
New York--His invitations to a private interview--His claims,
propositions, and threats--Mr. Kelly's message--Effects of reading the
Bible

CHAPTER XXVII.

Proposition to go to Montreal and testify against the
priests--Commencement of my journey--Stop at Troy, Whitehall,
Burlington, St. Alban's, Plattsburgh, and St. John's--Arrival at
Montreal--Reflections on passing the Nunnery.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Received into a hospitable family--Fluctuating feelings--Visits from
several persons--Father Phelan's declarations against me in his
church--Interviews with a Journeyman Carpenter--Arguments with him

CHAPTER XXIX.

A Milkman--An Irishwoman--Difficulty in having my Affidavit
taken--Legal objection to it when taken

CHAPTER XXX.

Interview with the Attorney General of the Province--Attempt to abduct
me--More interviews--A mob excited against me--Protected by two
soldiers--Convinced that an investigation of my charges could not be
obtained--Departure from Montreal--Closing reflections The truth of the
work demonstrated

APPENDIX--Reception of the work--Affidavits--Criticisms of the press,
&c.

PREFACE.

Here is the reprint of one of the most formidable books against
Nunneries ever published. It has produced powerful impressions abroad,
as well as in the United States, and appears destined to have still
greater results. It is the simple narrative of an uneducated and
unprotected female, who escaped from the old Black Nunnery of Montreal,
or Hotel Dieu, and told her tale of sufferings and horrors, without
exaggeration or embellishment. Though assailed by all the powers of the
Romish priesthood, whom she accused, and by the united influence of the
North American press, which, with very small exceptions, was then
unenlightened by the discoveries of the present day, the book remains
unimpeached, and still challenges the test of fair and open examination.

Many an American female, no doubt, is now living, who might justly
acknowledge that she was saved from exposure to the suffering, or even
the ruin, often the consequences of a Convent education, by the
disinterested warning given in this book; while its author,
disheartened at length by the powerful combination of Protestants and
Papists against her, led to distrust even the few who remained her
friends, destitute of the means of living, and alternately persecuted
and tempted by her ever watchful and insidious enemies, died some years
since, under condemnation (whether just or unjust) for one of the
slightest of the crimes which she had charged against them--thus
falling at last their victim.

American parents have here a book written for the salvation of their
daughters; American patriots, one designed to secure society against
one of the most destructive but insidious institutions of popery;
American females, an appeal to them of the most solemn kind, to beware
of Convents, and all who attempt to inveigle our unsuspecting daughters
into them, by the secret apparatus of Jesuit schools. The author of
this book was a small, slender, uneducated, and persecuted young woman,
who sought refuge in our country without a protector; but she showed
the resolution and boldness of a heroine, in confronting her powerful
enemies in their strong hold, and proved, by the simple force of truth,
victorious in the violent conflicts which were waged against her by the
Romish hierarchy of America and the popular press of the United States.

The publishers have thought the present an opportune period to place
this work again in the hands of American readers, with such
information, in a preface, as is necessary to acquaint readers of the
present day with the leading circumstances attending and succeeding its
original publication. They have examined most of the evidence
supporting the truth of the narrative, of which the public can judge as
well as themselves. The details would be voluminous, even of those
portions which have been collected since the heat of the controversy
which the book long ago excited. Suffice it to say, that undesigned and
collateral evidence in corroboration of it has been increasing to the
present day; and that the following brief review of some of the early
events will afford a fair specimen of the whole.

In the year 1835, Maria Monk was found alone, and in a wretched and
feeble condition, on the outskirts of New York city, by a humane man,
who got her admitted into the hospital at Bellevue. She then first told
the story in outline, which she afterwards and uniformly repeated in
detail, and which was carefully written down and published in the
following form:--she said she was a fugitive nun from the Hotel Dieu of
Montreal, whence she had effected her escape, in consequence of cruelty
which she had suffered, and crimes which were there committed by the
Romish priests, who had the control of the institution, and to which
they had access, by private as well as public entrances. Having
expressed a willingness to go to that city, make public accusations,
and point out evidences of their truth in the convent itself, she was
taken thither by a resolute man, who afterwards suffered for an act of
great merit; but she was unable to obtain a fair hearing, apparently
through the secret opposition of the priests. She returned to New York,
where her story was thought worthy of publication; and it was proposed
to have it carefully written down from her lips, and published in a
small pamphlet. Everything she communicated was, therefore, accurately
written down, and, when copied out, read to her for correction. But the
amount of important material in her possession, proved to be far
greater than had been supposed, and many pages of notes were
accumulated on numerous topics brought up to her attention in the
course of conversation and inquiry. All those were submitted to persons
fully competent to decide as to the reliability of the evidence, and
the strictest and most conscientious care was taken to ascertain the
truth.

There were but very few Protestants in the United States acquainted
with the condition or history of convents in different countries, the
characters of those who control and direct them, the motives they have
for keeping them secret, the occupations often pursued within their
walls, in short, the shameful practices and atrocious crimes of which
they have been proved to be the theatres, in modern and ancient times,
by Romish ecclesiastics and even popes themselves. The public were,
therefore, quite unprepared to believe such accusations against men
professing sanctity of life, and a divine commission to the world,
although Miss Harrison and Miss Reed of Boston had published startling
reports respecting the character of the priests and nuns in that
vicinity.

The following were some of the considerations which were kept in view
by those who proposed the publication of the narrative:--

"If the story is false, it must have been forged by the narrator or
some other party. There must have been a motive in either case; and
that may be either to obtain notoriety or money, to injure the
reputation of the priests accused, or ultimately to remove the
unfavorable impressions thrown upon them by their former accusers, by
first making charges of atrocious crimes, and then disproving them. On
the other hand, the story may perhaps be true; and if so, the world
ought to know it. In the meantime, here is an unprotected, and
evidently unfortunate young woman, of an interesting appearance, who
asks to be allowed to make her complaint, voluntarily consenting to
submit to punishment if she does not speak the truth. _She must be
allowed a hearing._"

It is but justice to say that the investigation was undertaken with
strong suspicions of imposture somewhere, and with a fixed resolution
to expose it if discovered. As the investigation proceeded, opinions at
first fluctuated, sometimes from day to day; but it became evident, ere
long, that if the story had been fabricated, it was not the work of the
narrator, as she had not the capacity to invent one so complex and
consistent with itself and with many historical facts entirely beyond
the limited scope of her knowledge. It was also soon perceived that she
could never have been taught it by others, as no part of it was
systematically arranged in her mind, and she communicated it in the
incidental manner common to uneducated persons, who recount past scenes
in successive conversations.

As she declared from the first that she had been trained to habits of
deception in the Convent, and accustomed to witness deceit and
criminality, no confidence could be claimed for her mere unsupported
declarations; and therefore a course of thorough cross-questioning was
pursued, every effort being made to lead her to contradict herself, but
without success. She told the same things over and over again in a
natural and consistent manner, when brought back to the same point
after intervals of weeks or months. In several instances it was thought
that contradictions had been traced, but when called on to reconcile
her statements, she cleared up all doubt by easy and satisfactory
explanations. The course pursued by the priests of Canada and their
advocates, was such as greatly to confirm the opinion that she spoke
the truth, and that they were exceedingly afraid of it. The following
were some of the contradictory grounds which they at different times
assumed in their bitter attacks upon her, her friends, and her books:

That she had never been in the nunnery.

That she had been expelled from it.

That she had fabricated everything that she published.

That several pages from her book, published in the New York "Sun," were
copied verbatim et literatim from a work published in Portugal above a
hundred years before, entitled "The Gates of Hell Opened."

That there never was a subterranean passage from the seminary to the
nunnery.

That there was such a passage in that direction, but that it led to the
River St. Lawrence.

That the drawings and descriptions of the nunnery, and especially of
the veiled department, were wholly unlike the reality, but applied to
the Magdalen Asylum of Montreal.

That several objects described by her were in the nunnery, but not in
those parts of it where she had placed them. (This was said by a person
who admitted that he had been lost amidst the numerous and extensive
apartments when he made his observations.)

That the book was fabricated by certain persons in New York who were
named, they being gentlemen of the highest character.

That the book was her own production, but written under the instigation
of the devil.

That the author was a layman, and ought to be hung on the first
lamp-post.

That the nunnery was a sacred place, and ought not to be profaned by
the admission of enemies of the church.

After a committee had been appointed to examine the nunnery and report,
and their demand for admission had been published a year or more, the
editor of _L'Ami du Peuple_, a Montreal newspaper, devoted to the
priests' cause, offered to admit persons informally, and did admit
several Americans, who had been strong partisans against the
"Disclosures." Their letters on the subject, though very indefinite,
contained several important, though undesigned admissions, strongly
corroborating the book.

One of the most common charges against the book was, that it had been
written merely for the purpose of obtaining money. Of the falseness of
this there is decisive evidence. It was intended to secure to the poor
and persecuted young female, any profits which might arise from the
publication; but most of the labor and time devoted to the work were
gratuitously bestowed. Besides this they devoted much time to efforts
necessary to guard against the numerous and insidious attempts made by
friends of the priests, who by various arts endeavored to produce
dissention and delay, as well as to pervert public opinion.

The book was published, and had an almost unprecedented sale,
impressing deep convictions, wherever it went, by its simple and
consistent statements. In Canada, especially, it was extensively
received as true; but as the American newspapers were soon enlisted
against it, the country was filled with misrepresentations, which it
was impossible through those channels to follow with refutations. Her
noble sacrifices for the good of others were misunderstood, she
withdrew from her few remaining friends, and at length died in poverty
and prison, a victim of the priests of Rome. Various evidences in favor
of its truth afterwards appeared, with which the public have never been
generally made acquainted. Some of these were afforded during an
interview held in New York, August 17th, 1836, with Messrs. Jones and
Le Clerc, who had came from Montreal with a work in reply to "Awful
Disclosures," which was afterwards published. They had offered to
confront Maria Monk, and prove her an impostor, and make her confess it
in the presence of her friends. She promptly appeared; and the first
exclamation of Mr. Jones proved that she was not the person he had
supposed her to be: _"This is not Fawny Johnson!"_ said he; and he
afterwards said, "There must be two Maria Monks!" Indeed, several
persons were at different times represented to bear that name; and much
confusion was caused in the testimony by that artifice. The interview
continued about two hours, during which the Canadians made a very sorry
figure, entirely failing to gain any advantage, and exposing their own
weakness. At the close, an Episcopal clergyman from Canada, one of the
company, said: "Miss Monk, if I had had any doubts of your truth before
this interview, they would now have been entirely removed."

The book of Mr. Jones was published, and consisted of affidavits, &c.,
obtained in Canada, including those which had previously been
published, and which are contained in the Appendix to this volume. Many
of them were signed by names unknown, or those of low persons of no
credit, or devoted to the service of the priests. Evidence was
afterwards obtained that Mr. Jones was paid by the Canadian
ecclesiastics, of which there had been strong indications. What
rendered his defeat highly important was, that he was the editor of
_L'Ami du Peuple_, the priests' newspaper, in Montreal, and he was "the
author of everything which had been written there against Maria Monk,"
and had collected all "the affidavits and testimony." These were his
own declarations. An accurate report of the interview was published,
and had its proper effect, especially his exclamation--"This is not
Fanny Johnson!"

The exciting controversy has long passed, but the authentic records of
it are imperishable, and will ever be regarded as an instructive study.
The corruptions and crimes of nunneries, and the hypocrisy and
chicanery of those who control them, with the varied and powerful means
at their command, are there displayed to an attentive reader, in colors
as dark and appalling as other features of the popish system are among
us, by the recent exposures of the impudent arrogance of the murderer
Bedini, and the ambitious and miserly spirit of his particular friend,
the Romish Archbishop of New York.

Among the recent corroborates of the "Awful Disclosures," may be
particularly mentioned the two narratives entitled "Coralla," and
"Confessions of a Sister of Charity," contained in the work issued this
season by the publishers of the present volume, viz.: "_The Escaped
Nun_; or, Disclosures of Convent Life," &c. Of the authenticity of
those two narratives we can give the public the strongest assurance.

After the city of Rome had been taken by siege by the French army, in
1849, the priests claimed possession of a female orphan-asylum, which
had something of the nature of a nunnery. The republican government had
given liberty to all recluses, and opened all _secret institutions_.
(When will Americans do the same?)

Subsequently, when the papists attempted to reinstate the old system,
the females remonstrated, barred the doors, and armed themselves with
knives and spits from the kitchen, but the French soldiers succeeded in
reducing them by force. During the contest the cry of the women was,
"We will not be the _wives_ of the priests!"

In one of the convents in that city, opened by the republicans, were
found evidences of some of the worst crimes mentioned by Maria Monk;
and in another were multitudes of bones, including those of children.

A strong effort will probably be made again, by the parties exposed by
this book, to avoid the condemnation which it throws upon convents--the
strongholds of superstition, corruption, and _foreign influence_, in
the United States. The Romish publications, although greatly reduced in
number within a few years, will probably pour out much of their
unexhausted virulence, as it is their vocation to misrepresent, deny,
and vilify. They will be ready to pronounce a general anathema on all
who dare to reprint, or even to read or believe, such strong
accusations against the "holy retreats" of those whom they pretend are
"devoted to lives of piety." But we will challenge them to do it again,
by placing some of their iron bishops and even popes in the forefront.

In the year 1489, in the reign of Henry VII, Pope Innocent VIII
published a bull for the Reformation of Monasteries, entitled, in
Latin, "_De Reformatione Monasceriorum_," in which he says that,
"members of monasteries and other religious places, both Clemian,
Cistercian, and Praemonstratensian, and various other orders in the
Kingdom of England"--"lead a lascivious and truly dissolute life." And
that the papist reader may receive this declaration with due reverence,
we copy the preceding words in Latin, as written by an infallible pope,
the man whose worshippers address him as "Vicegerent of God on earth."
Of course his words must convince them, if ours do not: "Vitam lascivam
ducunt, et nimium dissolutam." "Swine Priory," in 1303, had a Prioress
named Josiana, whose conduct made the name of her house quite
appropriate. In France, in the Council of Troyes, A. D. 999, the
Archbishop said, "In convents of monks, canons, and nuns, we have lay
abbots residing with their wives, sons, daughters, soldiers and dogs;"
and he charges the whole clergy with being in a deprived and sinful
state. But the particulars now before us, of such shameful things in
Germany, Italy, &c., for ages, would fill a larger volume than this.

Now, let the defenders of nunneries repeat, if they dare, their
hackneyed denunciations of those who deny their sanctity. Here stand
some of their own bishops and popes before us; and the anathemas must
fall first upon mitres and tiaras! Americans will know how much
confidence to place in the pretended purity of institutions, whose
iniquity and shame have been thus proclaimed, age after age, in a far
more extensive manner than by this book. But we can at any time shut
their mouths by the mere mention of "_Den's Theology_," which they must
not provoke us to refer to.

AWFUL DISCLOSURES.

CHAPTER I.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.

Early Life--Religious Education neglected--First Schools--Entrance into
the School of the Congregational Nunnery--Brief Account of the
Nunneries in Montreal--The Congregational Nunnery--The Black
Nunnery--The Grey Nunnery--Public Respect for these
Institutions--Instruction Received--The Catechism--The Bible.

My parents were both from Scotland, but had been resident in Lower
Canada some time before their marriage, which took place in Montreal;
and in that city I spent most of my life. I was born at St. John's,
where they lived for a short time. My father was an officer under the
British Government, and my mother has enjoyed a pension on that account
ever since his death. [Footnote: See the affidavit of William Miller,
in the Appendix.]

According to my earliest recollections, he was attentive to his family;
and a particular passage from the Bible, which often occurred to my
mind in after life, I may very probably have been taught by him, as
after his death I do not recollect to have received any religious
instruction at home; and was not even brought up to read the
scriptures: my mother, although nominally a Protestant, not being
accustomed to pay attention to her children in this respect. She was
rather inclined to think well of the Catholics, and often attended
their churches. To my want of religious instruction at home, and the
ignorance of my Creator, and my duty, which was its natural effect. I
think I can trace my introduction to Convents, and the scenes which I
am to describe in this narrative.

When about six or seven years of age, I went to school to a Mr.
Workman, a Protestant, who taught in Sacrament street, and remained
several months. There I learned to read and write, and arithmetic as
far as division. All the progress I ever made in those branches was
gained in that school, as I have never improved in any of them since.

A number of girls of my acquaintance went to school to the nuns of the
Congregational Nunnery, or Sisters of Charity, as they are sometimes
called. The schools taught by them are perhaps more numerous than some
of my readers may imagine. Nuns are sent out from that Convent to many
of the towns and villages of Canada to teach small schools; and some of
them are established as instructresses in different parts of the United
States. When I was about ten years old, my mother asked me one day if I
should not like to learn to read and write French; and I then began to
think seriously of attending the school in the Congregational Nunnery.
I had already some acquaintance with that language, sufficient to speak
it a little, as I heard it every day, and my mother knew something of
it.

I have a distinct recollection of my first entrance into the Nunnery;
and the day was an important one in my life, as on it commenced my
acquaintance with a Convent. I was conducted by some of my young
friends along Notre Dame street till we reached the gate. Entering
that, we walked some distance along the side of a building towards the
chapel, until we reached a door, stopped, and rung a bell. This was
soon opened, and entering, we proceeded through a long covered passage
till we took a short turn to the left, soon after which we reached the
door of the school-room. On my entrance, the Superior met me, and told
me first of all that I must always dip my fingers into the holy water
at her door, cross myself, and say a short prayer; and this she told me
was always required of Protestant as well as Catholic children.

There were about fifty girls in the school, and the nuns professed to
teach something of reading, writing, arithmetic, and geography. The
methods, however, were very imperfect, and little attention was devoted
to them, the time being in a great degree engrossed with lessons in
needle-work, which was performed with much skill. The nuns had no very
regular parts assigned them in the management of the schools. They were
rather rough and unpolished in their manners, often exclaiming, "c'est
un menti" (that's a lie), and "mon Dieu" (my God), on the most trivial
occasions. Their writing was quite poor, and it was not uncommon for
them to put a capital letter in the middle of a word. The only book on
geography which we studied, was a catechism of geography, from which we
learnt by heart a few questions and answers. We were sometimes referred
to a map, but it was only to point out Montreal or Quebec, or some
other prominent name, while we had no instruction beyond.

It may be necessary for the information of some of my readers, to
mention that there are three distinct Convents in Montreal, all of
different kinds; that is, founded on different plans, and governed by
different rules. Their names are as follows:--

1st. The Congregational Nunnery.

2d. The Black Nunnery, or Convent of Sister Bourgeoise.

3d The Grey Nunnery.

The first of these professes to be devoted entirely to the education of
girls. It would require however only a proper examination to prove
that, with the exception of needle-work, hardly anything is taught
excepting prayers and the catechism; the instruction in reading,
writing, &c., in fact, amounting to very little, and often to nothing.
This Convent is adjacent to that next to be spoken of, being separated
from it only by a wall. The second professes to be a charitable
institution for the care of the sick, and the supply of bread and
medicines for the poor; and something is done in these departments of
charity, although but an insignificant amount, compared with the size
of the buildings, and the number of the inmates.

The Grey Nunnery, which is situated in a distant part of the city, is
also a large edifice, containing departments for the care of insane
persons and foundlings. With this, however, I have less personal
acquaintance than with either of the others. I have often seen two of
the Grey nuns, and know that their rules, as well as those of the
Congregational Nunnery, do not confine them always within their walls,
like those of the Black Nunnery. These two Convents have their common
names (Black and Grey) from the colours of the dresses worn by their
inmates.

In all these three Convents, there are certain apartments into which
strangers can gain admittance, but others from which they are always
excluded. In all, large quantities of various ornaments are made by the
nuns, which are exposed for sale in the _Ornament_ Rooms, and afford
large pecuniary receipts every year, which contribute much to their
incomes. In these rooms visitors often purchase such things as please
them from some of the old [Footnote: The term "old nun," does not
always indicate superior age.] and confidential nuns who have the
charge of them.

From all that appears to the public eye, the nuns of these Convents are
devoted to the charitable objects appropriate to each, the labour of
making different articles, known to be manufactured by them, and the
religious observances, which occupy a large portion of their time. They
are regarded with much respect by the people at large; and now and then
when a novice takes the veil, she is supposed to retire from the
temptations and troubles of this world into a state of holy seclusion,
where, by prayer, self-mortification, and good deeds, she prepares
herself for heaven. Sometimes the Superior of a Convent obtains the
character of working miracles; and when such a one dies, it is
published through the country, and crowds throng the Convent, who think
indulgences are to be derived from bits of her clothes or other things
she has possessed; and many have sent articles to be touched to her bed
or chair, in which a degree of virtue is thought to remain. I used to
participate in such ideas and feelings, and began by degrees to look
upon a nun as the happiest of women, and a Convent as the most
peaceful, holy, and delightful place of abode. It is true, some pains
were taken to impress such views upon me. Some of the priests of the
Seminary often visited the Congregation Nunnery, and both catechised
and talked with us on religion. The Superior of the Black Nunnery
adjoining, also, occasionally came into the School, enlarged on the
advantages we enjoyed in having such teachers, and dropped something
now and then relating to her own Convent, calculated to make us
entertain the highest ideas of it, and to make us sometimes think of
the possibility of getting into it.

Among the instructions given us by the priests, some of the most
pointed were those directed against the Protestant Bible. They often
enlarged upon the evil tendency of that book, and told us that but for
it many a soul now condemned to hell, and suffering eternal punishment,
might have been in happiness. They could not say any thing in its
favour: for that would be speaking against religion and against God.
They warned us against it, and represented it as a thing very dangerous
to our souls. In confirmation of this, they would repeat some of the
answers taught us at catechism, a few of which I will here give. We had
little catechisms ("Le Petit Catechism") put into our hands to study;
but the priests soon began to teach us a new set of answers, which were
not to be found in our books, and from some of which I received new
ideas, and got, as I thought, important light on religious subjects,
which confirmed me more and more in my belief in the Roman Catholic
doctrines. These questions and answers I can still recall with
tolerable accuracy, and some of them I will add here. I never have read
them, as we were taught them only by word of mouth.

_Question_. "Pourquoi le bon Dieu n'a pas fait tous les commandemens?"

_Réponse_. "Parce que l'homme n'est pas si fort qu'il peut garder tous
ses commandemens."

_Q_. "Why did not God make all the commandments?"

_A_. "Because man is not strong enough to keep them."

And another. _Q_. "Pourquoi l'homme ne lit pas l'Evangile?"

_R_. "Parce que l'esprit de l'homme est trop borné et trop faîble pour
comprendre qu'est ce que Dieu a écrit."

_Q_. "Why are men not to read the New Testament?"

_A_. "Because the mind of man is too limited and weak to understand
what God has written."

These questions and answers are not to be found in the common
catechisms in use in Montreal and other places where I have been, but
all the children in the Congregational Nunnery were taught them, and
many more not found in these books.

CHAPTER II.

CONGREGATIONAL NUNNERY.

Story told by a fellow Pupil against a Priest--Other Stories--Pretty
Mary--Confess to Father Richards--My subsequent Confessions--Left the
Congregational Nunnery.

There was a girl thirteen years old whom I knew in the School, who
resided in the neighborhood of my mother, and with whom I had been
familiar. She told me one day at school of the conduct of a priest with
her at confession, at which I was astonished. It was of so criminal and
shameful a nature, I could hardly believe it, and yet I had so much
confidence that she spoke the truth, that I could not discredit it.

She was partly persuaded by the priest to believe that he could not
sin, because he was a priest, and that anything he did to her would
sanctify her; and yet she seemed doubtful how she should act. A priest,
she had been told by him, is a holy man, and appointed to a holy
office, and therefore what would be wicked in other men, could not be
so in him. She told me that she had informed her mother of it, who
expressed no anger nor disapprobation, but only enjoined it upon her
not to speak of it; and remarked to her, that as priests were not like
other men, but holy, and sent to instruct and save us, whatever they
did was right.

I afterward confessed to the priest that I had heard the story, and had
a penance to perform for indulging a sinful curiosity in making
inquiries; and the girl had another for communicating it. I afterward
learned that other children had been treated in the same manner, and
also of similar proceedings in other places.

Indeed, it was not long before such language was used to me, and I well
remember how my views of right and wrong were shaken by it. Another
girl at the School, from a place above Montreal, called the Lac, told
me the following story of what had occurred recently in that vicinity.
A young squaw, called la Belle Marie,(pretty Mary,) had been seen going
to confession at the house of the priest, who lived a little out of the
village. La Belle Marie was afterwards missed, and her murdered body
was found in the river. A knife was also found covered with blood,
bearing the priest's name. Great indignation was excited among the
Indians, and the priest immediately absconded, and was never heard from
again. A note was found on his table addressed to him, telling him to
fly if he was guilty.

It was supposed that the priest was fearful that his conduct might be
betrayed by this young female; and he undertook to clear himself by
killing her.

These stories struck me with surprise at first, but I gradually began
to feel differently, even supposing them true, and to look upon the
priests as men incapable of sin; besides, when I first went to
confession, which I did to Father Richards, in the old French church
(since taken down), I heard nothing improper; and it was not until I
had been several times, that the priests became more and more bold, and
were at length indecent in their questions and even in their conduct
when I confessed to them in the Sacristie. This subject I believe is
not understood nor suspected among Protestants; and it is not my
intention to speak of it very particularly, because it is impossible to
do so without saying things both shameful and demoralizing.

I will only say here, that when quite a child, I had from the mouths of
the priests at confession what I cannot repeat, with treatment
corresponding; and several females in Canada have recently assured me,
that they have repeatedly, and indeed regularly, been required to
answer the same and other like questions, many of which present to the
mind deeds which the most iniquitous and corrupt heart could hardly
invent.

There was a frequent change of teachers in the School of the Nunnery;
and no regular system was pursued in our instruction. There were many
nuns who came and went while I was there, being frequently called in
and out without any perceptible reason. They supply school teachers to
many of the country towns, usually two for each of the towns with which
I was acquainted, besides sending Sisters of Charity to different parts
of the United States. Among those whom I saw most, was Saint Patrick,
an old woman for a nun (that is, about forty), very ignorant, and gross
in her manners, with quite a beard on her face, and very cross and
disagreeable. She was sometimes our teacher in sewing, and was
appointed to keep order among us. We were allowed to enter only a few
of the rooms in the Congregational Nunnery, although it was not
considered one of the secluded Convents.

In the Black Nunnery, which is very near the Congregational, is an
hospital for sick people from the city; and sometimes some of our
boarders, such as are indisposed, were sent there to be cured. I was
once taken ill myself and sent there, where I remained a few days.

There were beds enough for a considerable number more. A physician
attended it daily; and there are a number of the veiled nuns of that
Convent who spend most of their time there.

These would also sometimes read lectures and repeat prayers to us.

After I had been in the Congregational Nunnery about two years, I left
it,[Footnote: See the 2d affidavit.] and attended several different
schools for a short time; but I soon became dissatisfied, having many
and severe trials to endure at home, which my feelings will not allow
me to describe; and as my Catholic acquaintances had often spoken to me
in favour of their faith, I was inclined to believe it true, although,
as I before said, I knew little of any religion. While out of the
nunnery, I saw nothing of religion. If I had, I believe I should never
have thought of becoming a nun.

CHAPTER III.

BLACK NUNNERY.

At length I determined to become a Black nun, and called upon one of
the oldest priests in the Seminary, to whom I made known my intention.

The old priest to whom I applied was Father Rocque. He is still alive.
He was at that time the oldest priest in the Seminary, and carried the
Bon Dieu, (Good God,) as the sacramental wafer is called. When going to
administer it in any country place, he used to ride with a man before
him, who rang a bell as a signal. When the Canadians heard it, whose
habitations he passed, they would come and prostrate themselves to the
earth, worshipping it as God. He was a man of great age, and wore large
curls, so that he somewhat resembled his predecessor, Father Roue. He
was at that time at the head of the Seminary. This institution is a
large edifice, situated near the Congregational and Black Nunneries,
being on the east side of Notre Dame street. It is the general
rendezvous and centre of all the priests in the District of Montreal,
and, I have been told, supplies all the country with priests as far
down as Three Rivers, which place, I believe, is under the charge of
the Seminary of Quebec. About one hundred and fifty priests are
connected with that of Montreal, as every small place has one priest,
and a number of larger ones have two.

Father Rocque promised to converse with the Superior of the Convent,
and proposed my calling again, at the end of two weeks, at which time I
visited the Seminary again, and was introduced by him to the Superior
of the Black Nunnery. She told me she must make some inquiries, before
she could give me a decided answer; and proposed to me to take up my
abode a few days at the house of a French family in St. Lawrence
suburbs, a distant part of the city. Here I remained about a fortnight;
during which time I formed some acquaintance with the family,
particularly with the mistress of the house, who was a devoted Papist,
and had a high respect for the Superior, with whom she stood on good
terms.

At length, on Saturday morning about ten o'clock, I called and was
admitted into the Black Nunnery, as a novice, much to my satisfaction,
for I had a high idea of a life in a Convent, secluded, as I supposed
the inmates to be, from the world and all its evil influences, and
assured of everlasting happiness in heaven. The Superior received me,
and conducted me into a large room, where the novices, (who are called
in French Postulantes,) were assembled, and engaged in their customary
occupation of sewing.

Here were about forty of them, and they were collected in groups in
different parts of the room, chiefly near the windows; but in each
group was found one of the veiled nuns of the Convent, whose abode was
in the interior apartments, to which no novice was to be admitted. As
we entered, the Superior informed the assembly that a new novice had
come, and she desired any present who might have known me in the world
to signify it.

Two Miss Fougnées, and a Miss Howard, from Vermont, who had been my
fellow-pupils in the Congregational Nunnery, immediately recognised me.
I was then placed in one of the groups, at a distance from them, and
furnished by a nun called Sainte Clotilde, with materials to make a
kind of purse, such as the priests use to carry the consecrated wafer
in, when they go to administer the sacrament to the sick. I well
remember my feelings at that time, sitting among a number of strangers,
and expecting with painful anxiety the arrival of the dinner hour.
Then, as I knew, ceremonies were to be performed, for which I was but
ill prepared, as I had not yet heard the rules by which I was to be
governed, and knew nothing of the forms to be repeated in the daily
exercises, except the creed in Latin, and that imperfectly. This was
during the time of recreation, as it is called. The only recreation
there allowed, however, is that of the mind, and of this there is but
little. We were kept at work, and permitted to speak with each other
only on such subjects as related to the Convent, and all in the hearing
of the old nuns who sat by us. We proceeded to dinner in couples, and
ate in silence while a lecture was read.

The novices had access to only eight of the apartments of the Convent;
and whatever else we wished to know, we could only conjecture. The
sleeping room was in the second story, at the end of the western wing.
The beds were placed in rows, without curtains or anything else to
obstruct the view; and in one corner was a small room partitioned off,
in which was the bed of the night-watch, that is, the old nun that was
appointed to oversee us for the night. In each side of the partition
were two holes, through which she could look out upon us whenever she
pleased. Her bed was a little raised above the level of the others.
There was a lamp hung in the middle of our chamber which showed every
thing to her distinctly; and as she had no light in her little room, we
never could perceive whether she was awake or asleep. As we knew that
the slightest deviation from the rules would expose us to her
observation, as well as to that of our companions, in whom it was a
virtue to betray one another's faults, as well as to confess our own, I
felt myself under a continual exposure to suffer what I disliked, and
had my mind occupied in thinking of what I was to do next, and what I
must avoid.

I soon learned the rules and ceremonies we had to regard, which were
many; and we had to be very particular in their observance. We were
employed in different kinds of work while I was a novice. The most
beautiful specimen of the nuns' manufacture which I saw was a rich
carpet made of fine worsted, which had been begun before my
acquaintance with the Convent, and was finished while I was there. This
was sent as a present to the King of England, as an expression of
gratitude for the money annually received from the government. It was
about forty yards in length, and very handsome. We were ignorant of the
amount of money thus received. The Convent of Grey Nuns has also
received funds from the government, though on some account or other,
had not for several years.

I was sitting by a window at one time, with a girl named Jane M'Coy,
when one of the old nuns cams up and spoke to us in a tone of
liveliness and kindness which seemed strange, in a place where
everything seemed so cold and reserved. Some remark which she made was
evidently intended to cheer and encourage me, and made me think that
she felt some interest in me. I do not recollect what she said, but I
remember it gave me pleasure. I also remember that her manner struck me
singularly. She was rather old for a nun, that is, probably thirty; her
figure large, her face wrinkled, and her dress careless. She seemed
also to be under less restraint than the others, and this, I afterward
found, was the case. She sometimes even set the rules at defiance. She
would speak aloud when silence was required, and sometimes walk about
when she ought to have kept her place: she would even say and do things
on purpose to make us laugh; and although often blamed for her conduct,
had her offences frequently passed over, when others would have been
punished with penances.

I learnt that this woman had always been singular. She never would
consent to take a saint's name on receiving the veil, and had always
been known by her own, which was Jane Ray. Her irregularities were
found to be numerous, and penances were of so little use in governing
her, that she was pitied by some, who thought her partially insane. She
was, therefore, commonly spoken of as mad Jane Ray; and when she
committed a fault, it was often apologized for by the Superior or other
nuns, on the ground that she did not know what she did.

The occupations of a novice in the Black Nunnery are not such as some
of my readers may suppose. They are not employed in studying the higher
branches of education; they are not offered any advantages for storing
their mind, or polishing their manners; they are not taught even
reading, writing, or arithmetic; much less any of the more advanced
branches of knowledge. My time was chiefly employed, at first, in work
and prayers. It is true, during the last year I studied a great deal,
and was required to work but very little; but it was the study of
prayers in French and Latin, which I had merely to commit to memory, to
prepare for the easy repetition of them on my reception, and after I
should be admitted as a nun.

Among the wonderful events which had happened in the Convent, that of
the sudden conversion of a gay young lady of the city into a nun,
appeared to me one of the most remarkable. The story which I first
heard, while a novice, made a deep impression upon my mind. It was
nearly as follows:

The daughter of a wealthy citizen of Montreal was passing the church of
Bon Secours, one evening, on her way to a ball, when she was suddenly
thrown down upon the steps or near the door, and received a severe
shock. She was taken up, and removed first, I think, into the church,
but soon into the Black Nunnery, which she soon determined to join as a
nun; instead, however, of being required to pass through a long
novitiate (which usually occupies about two years and a-half, and is
abridged only where the character is peculiarly exemplary and devout),
she was permitted to take the veil without delay; being declared by God
to a priest to be in a state of sanctity. The meaning of this
expression is, that she was a real saint, and already in a great
measure raised above the world and its influences, and incapable of
sinning, possessing the power of intercession, and being a proper
object to be addressed in prayer. This remarkable individual, I was
further informed, was still in the Convent, though I never was allowed
to see her; she did not mingle with the other nuns, either at work,
worship, or meals; for she had no need of food, and not only her soul,
but her body, was in heaven a great part of her time. What added, if
possible, to the reverence and mysterious awe with which I thought of
her, was the fact I learned, that she had no name. The titles used in
speaking of her were, the holy saint, reverend mother, or saint bon
pasteur (the holy good shepherd).

It is wonderful that we could have carried our reverence for the
Superior as far as we did, although it was the direct tendency of many
instructions and regulations, indeed of the whole system, to permit,
even to foster a superstitious regard for her.

One of us was occasionally called into her room, to cut her nails or
dress her hair; and we would often collect the clippings, and
distribute them to each other, or preserve them with the utmost care. I
once picked up all the stray hairs I could find, after combing her
head, bound them together, and kept them for some time, until she told
me I was not worthy to possess things so sacred. Jane McCoy and I were
once sent to alter a dress for the Superior. I gathered up all the bits
of thread, made a little bag, and put them into it for safe
preservation. This I wore a long time around my neck, so long, indeed,
that I wore out a number of strings, which, I remember, I replace with
new ones. I believed it to possess the power of removing pain, and
often prayed to it to cure the tooth-ache, &c. Jane Ray sometimes
professed to outgo us all in devotion to the Superior, and would pick
up the feathers after making her bed. These she would distributed among
us, saying, "When the Superior dies, reliques will begin to grow
scarce, and you had better supply yourselves in season." Then she would
treat the whole matter in some way to turn it into ridicule. Equally
contradictory would she appear, when occasionally she would obtain
leave from the Superior to tell her dreams. With a serious face, which
sometimes imposed upon all of us, and made us half believe she was in a
perfect state of sanctity, she would narrate in French some
unaccountable vision which she said she had enjoyed. Then turning
round, would say, "There are some who do not understand me; you all
ought to be informed." And then she would say something totally
different in English, which put us to the greatest agony for fear of
laughing. Sometimes she would say that she expected to be Superior
herself, one of these days, and other things which I have not room to
repeat.

While I was in the Congregational Nunnery, I had gone to the parish
church whenever I was to confess; for although the nuns had a private
confession-room in the building, the boarders were taken in parties
through the streets on different days by some of the nuns, to confess
in the church; but in the Black Nunnery, as we had a chapel and priests
attending in the confessionals, we never left the building.

Our confessions there as novices, were always performed in one way, so
that it may be sufficient to describe a single case. Those of us who
were to confess at a particular time, took our places on our knees near
the confessional-box, and after having repeated a number of prayers,
&c., prescribed in our books, came up one at a time and kneeled beside
a fine wooden lattice-work, which entirely separated the confessor from
us, yet permitted us to place our faces almost to his ear, and nearly
concealed his countenance from view, even when so near. I recollect how
the priests used to recline their heads on one side, and often covered
their faces with their handkerchiefs, while they heard me confess my
sins, and put questions to me, which were often of the most improper
and even revolting nature, naming crimes both unthought of and inhuman.
Still, strange as it may seem, I was persuaded to believe that all this
was their duty, or at least that it was done without sin.

Veiled nuns would often appear in the chapel at confession; though, as
I understood, they generally confessed in private. Of the plan of their
confession-rooms I had no information; but I supposed the ceremony to
be conducted much on the same plan as in the chapel and in the church,
viz. with a lattice interposed between the confessor and the confessing.

Punishments were sometimes resorted to, while I was a novice, though
but seldom. The first time I ever saw a gag, was one day when a young
novice had done something to offend the Superior. This girl I always
had compassion for; because she was very young, and an orphan. The
Superior sent for a gag, and expressed her regret at being compelled,
by the bad conduct of the child, to proceed to such a punishment; after
which she put it into her mouth, so far as to keep it open, and then
let it remain some time before she took it out. There was a leathern
strap fastened to each end, and buckled to the back part of the head.

CHAPTER IV.

Displeased with the Convent--Left it--Residence at St.
Denis--Reliques--Marriage--Return to the Black Nunnery--Objections made
by some Novices--Ideas of the Bible.

After I had been in the nunneries four or five years, from the time I
commenced school at the Congregational Convent, one day I was treated
by one of the nuns in a manner which displeased me, and because I
expressed some resentment, was required to beg her pardon. Not being
satisfied with this, although I complied with the command, nor with the
coolness with which the Superior treated me, I determined to quit the
Convent at once, which I did without asking leave. There would have
been no obstacle to my departure, I presume, novice as I then was, if I
had asked permission; but I was too much displeased to wait for that,
and went home without speaking to any one on the subject.

I soon after visited the town of St. Denis, where I saw two young
ladies with whom I had formerly been acquainted in Montreal, and one of
them a former schoolmate at Mr. Workman's school. After some
conversation with me, and learning that I had known a lady who kept
school in the place, they advised me to apply to her to be employed as
her assistant teacher; for she was then instructing the government
school in that place. I visited her, and found her willing, and I
engaged at once as her assistant.

The government society paid her 20_l_: a-year: she was obliged to teach
ten children gratuitously; might receive fifteen pence a month (about a
quarter of a dollar), for each of ten scholars more; and then she was
at liberty, according to the regulations, to demand as much as she
pleased for the other pupils. The course of instruction, as required by
the society, embraced only reading, writing, and what was called
ciphering, though I think improperly. The only books used were a
spelling-book, l'Instruction de la Jeunesse, the Catholic New
Testament, and l'Histoire de Canada. When these had been read through,
in regular succession, the children were dismissed as having completed
their education. No difficulty is found in making the common French
Canadians content with such an amount of instruction as this; on the
contrary, it is often very hard indeed to prevail upon them to send
their children at all, for they say it takes too much of the love of
God from them to sent them to school. The teacher strictly complied
with the requisitions of the society in whose employment she was, and
the Roman Catholic catechism was regularly taught in the school, as
much from choice as from submission to authority, as she was a strict
Catholic. I had brought with me the little bag I have before mentioned,
in which I had so long kept the clippings of the thread left after
making a dress for the Superior. Such was my regard for it, that I
continued to wear it constantly round my neck, and to feel the same
reverence for its supposed virtues as before. I occasionally had the
toothache during my stay at St. Denis, and then always relied on the
influence of my little bag. On such occasions I would say--

"By the virtue of this bag, may I be delivered from the toothache;" and
I supposed that when it ceased, it was owing to that cause.

While engaged in this manner, I became acquainted with a man who soon
proposed marriage; and young and ignorant of the world as I was, I
heard his offers with favour. On consulting with my friend, she
expressed an interest for me, advised me against taking such a step,
and especially as I knew little about the man, except that a report was
circulated unfavorable to his character. Unfortunately, I was not wise
enough to listen to her advice, and hastily married. In a few weeks, I
had occasion to repent of the step I had taken, as the report proved
true--a report which I thought justified, and indeed required, our
separation. After I had been in St. Denis about three months, finding
myself thus situated, and not knowing what else to do, I determined to
return to the Convent, and pursue my former intention of becoming a
Black nun, could I gain admittance. Knowing the many inquiries that the
Superior would make relative to me, during my absence before leaving
St. Denis, I agreed with the lady with whom I had been associated as a
teacher (when she went to Montreal, which she did very frequently), to
say to the Lady Superior that I had been under her protection during my
absence, which would satisfy her, and stop further inquiry; as I was
sensible, that, should they know I had been married, I should not gain
admittance.

I soon returned to Montreal, and on reaching the city, I visited the
Seminary, and in another interview with the Superior of it,
communicated my wish, and desired him to procure my re-admission as a
novice. Little delay occurred.

After leaving me for a short time, he returned, and told me that the
Superior of the Convent had consented, and I was soon introduced into
her presence. She blamed me for my conduct in leaving the nunnery, but
told me that I ought to be ever grateful to my guardian angel for
taking care of me, and bringing me in safety back to that retreat. I
requested that I might be secured against the reproaches and ridicule
of all the novices and nuns, which I thought some might be disposed to
cast upon me unless prohibited by the Superior; and this she promised
me. The money usually required for the admission of novices had not
been expected from me. I had been admitted the first time without any
such requisition; but now I chose to pay it for my re-admission. I knew
that she was able to dispense with such a demand as well in this as the
former case, and she knew that I was not in possession of any thing
like the sum required.

But I was bent on paying to the Nunnery, and accustomed to receive the
doctrine often repeated to me before that time, that when the advantage
of the church was consulted, the steps taken were justifiable, let them
be what they would, I therefore resolved to obtain money on false
pretences, confident that if all were known, I should be far from
displeasing the Superior. I went to the brigade major, and asked him to
give me the money payable to my mother from her pension, which amounted
to about thirty dollars, and without questioning my authority to
receive it in her name, he gave it me.

From several of her friends I obtained small sums under the name of
loans, so that altogether I had soon raised a number of pounds, with
which I hastened to the nunnery, and deposited a part in the hands of
the Superior. She received the money with evident satisfaction, though
she must have known that I could not have obtained it honestly; and I
was at once re-admitted as a novice.

Much to my gratification, not a word fell from the lips of any of my
old associates in relation to my unceremonious departure, nor my
voluntary return. The Superior's orders, I had not a doubt, had been
explicitly laid down, and they certainly were carefully obeyed, for I
never heard an allusion made to that subject during my subsequent stay
in the Convent, except that, when alone, the Superior would herself
sometimes say a little about it.

There were numbers of young ladies who entered awhile as novices, and
became weary or disgusted with some things they observed, and remained
but a short time. One of my cousins, who lived at Lachine, named Reed,
spent about a fortnight in the Convent with me. She, however, conceived
such an antipathy against the priests, that she used expressions which
offended the Superior.

The first day she attended mass, while at dinner with us in full
community, she said before us all: "What a rascal that priest was, to
preach against his best friend!"

All stared at such an unusual exclamation, and some one inquired what
she meant.

"I say," she continued, "he has been preaching against him who gives
him his bread. Do you suppose that if there were no devil, there would
be any priests?"

This bold young novice was immediately dismissed: and in the afternoon
we had a long sermon from the Superior on the subject.

It happened that I one day got a leaf of an English Bible, which had
been brought into the Convent, wrapped round some sewing silk,
purchased at a store in the city. For some reason or other, I
determined to commit to memory a chapter it contained, which I soon
did. It is the only chapter I ever learnt in the Bible, and I can now
repeat it. It is the second of St. Matthew's gospel, "Now when Jesus
was born in Bethlehem of Judea," &c.

It happened that I was observed reading the paper, and when the nature
of it was discovered, I was condemned to do penance for my offence.

Great dislike to the Bible was shown by those who conversed with me
about it, and several have remarked to me, at different times, that if
it were not for that book, Catholics would never be led to renounce
their own faith.

I heard passages read from the Evangile, relating to the death of
Christ; the conversion of Paul; a few chapters from St. Matthew, and
perhaps a few others. The priest would also sometimes take a verse or
two, and preach from it. I read St. Peter's Life, but only in the book
called the "Lives of the Saints." He, I understand, has the keys of
heaven and hell, and has founded our church. As for St. Paul, I
remember, as I was taught to understand it, that he was once a great
persecutor of the Roman _Catholics_, until he became convicted, and
confessed to one of the _father confessors_, I don't know which. For
who can expect to be forgiven who does not become a Catholic, and
confess?

CHAPTER V.

Received Confirmation--Painful Feelings--Specimen of Instruction
received on the Subject.

The day on which I received confirmation was a distressing one to me. I
believed the doctrine of the Roman Catholics, and according to them I
was guilty of three mortal sins; concealing something at confession,
sacrilege, in putting the body of Christ in the sacrament under my
feet, and receiving it while not in a state of grace; and now, I had
been led into all those sins in consequence of my marriage, which I
never had acknowledged, as it would cut me off from being admitted as a
nun.

On the day, therefore, when I went to the church to be confirmed, with
a number of others, I suffered extremely from the reproaches of my
conscience. I knew, at least I believed, as I had been told, that a
person who had been anointed with the holy oil of confirmation on the
forehead, and dying in the state in which I was, would go down to hell,
and in the place where the oil had been rubbed, the names of my sins
would blaze out on my forehead; these would be a sign by which the
devils would know me; and they would torment me the worse for them. I
was thinking of all this, while I sat in the pew, waiting to receive
the oil. I felt, however, some consolation, as I often did afterward
when my sins came to mind; and this consolation I derived from another
doctrine of the same church: viz. that a bishop could absolve me from
all these sins any minute before my death; and I intended to confess
them all to a bishop before leaving the world. At length, the moment
for administering the "sacrament" arrived, and a bell was rung. Those
who had come to be confirmed had brought tickets from their confessors,
and these were thrown into a hat, carried around by a priest who in
turn handed each to the bishop, by which he learnt the name of each of
us, and applied a little of the oil to our foreheads. This was
immediately rubbed off by a priest with a bit of cloth, quite roughly.

I went home with some qualms of conscience, and often thought with
dread of the following tale, which I have heard told to illustrate the
sinfulness of conduct like mine.

A priest was once travelling, when, just as he was passing by a house,
his horse fell on his knees, and would not rise. His rider dismounted,
and went in to learn the cause of so extraordinary an occurrence. He
found there a woman near death, to whom a priest was trying to
administer the sacrament, but without success; for every time she
attempted to swallow it, it was thrown back out of her mouth into the
chalice. He perceived it was owing to unconfessed sin, and took away
the holy wafer from her: on which his horse rose from his knees, and he
pursued his journey.

I often remembered also that I had been told, that we shall have as
many devils biting us, if we go to hell, as we have unconfessed sins on
our consciences.

I was required to devote myself for about a year, to the study of the
prayers and the practice of the ceremonies necessary on the reception
of a nun. This I found a very tedious duty; but as I was released in a
great degree from the daily labors usually demanded of novices, I felt
little disposition to complain.

CHAPTER VI.

Taking the Veil--Interview afterward with the Superior--Surprise and
horror at her Disclosure--Resolution to Submit.

I was introduced into the Superior's room on the evening preceding the
day on which I was to take the veil, to have an interview with the
Bishop. The Superior was present, and the interview lasted about half
an hour. The Bishop on this as on other occasions appeared to me
habitually rough in his manners. His address was by no means
prepossessing.

Before I took the veil, I was ornamented for the ceremony, and was
clothed in a rich dress belonging to the Convent, which was used on
such occasions; and placed not far from the altar in the chapel, in the
view of a number of spectators who had assembled, perhaps about forty.
Taking the veil is an affair which occurs so frequently in Montreal,
that it has long ceased to be regarded as a novelty; and, although
notice had been given in the French parish church as usual, only a
small audience had assembled, as I have mentioned.

Being well prepared with a long training, and frequent rehearsals, for
what I was to perform, I stood waiting in my large flowing dress for
the appearance of the Bishop. He soon presented himself, entering by
the door behind the altar; I then threw myself at his feet, and asked
him to confer upon me the veil. He expressed his consent, and threw it
over my head, saying, "Receive the veil, O thou spouse of Jesus
Christ;" and then turning to the Superior, I threw myself prostrate at
her feet, according to my instructions, repeating what I had before
done at rehearsals, and made a movement as if to kiss her feet. This
she prevented, or appeared to prevent, catching me by a sudden motion
of her hand, and granted my request. I then kneeled before the Holy
Sacrament, that is, a very large round wafer held by the Bishop between
his fore-finger and thumb, and made my vows.

This wafer I had been taught to regard with the utmost veneration, as
the real body of Jesus Christ, the presence of which made the vows
uttered before it binding in the most solemn manner.

After taking the vows, I proceeded to a small apartment behind the
altar, accompanied by four nuns, where was a coffin prepared with my
nun name engraven upon it:

"SAINT EUSTACE."

My companions lifted it by four handles attached to it, while I threw
off my dress, and put on that of a nun of Soeur Bourgeoise; and then we
all returned to the chapel. I proceeded first, and was followed by the
four nuns; the Bishop naming a number of worldly pleasures in rapid
succession, in reply to which I as rapidly repeated--"Je renonce, je
renonce, je renonce"--[I renounce, I renounce, I renounce.]

The coffin was then placed in front of the altar, and I advanced to lay
myself in it. This coffin was to be deposited, after the ceremony, in
an outhouse, to be preserved until my death, when it was to receive my
corpse. There were reflections which I naturally made at the time, but
I stepped in, extended myself, and lay still. A pillow had been placed
at the head of the coffin, to support my head in a comfortable
position. A large, thick black cloth was then spread over me, and the
chanting of Latin hymns immediately commenced. My thoughts were not the
most pleasing during the time I lay in that situation. The pall, or
Drap Mortel, as the cloth is called, had a strong smell of incense,
which was always disagreeable to me, and then proved almost
suffocating. I recollected also a story I had heard of a novice, who,
in taking the veil, lay down in her coffin like me, and was covered in
the same manner, but on the removal of the covering was found dead.

When I was uncovered, I rose, stepped out of my coffin, and kneeled.
The Bishop then addressed these words to the Superior, "Take care and
keep pure and spotless this young virgin, whom Christ has consecrated
to himself this day." After which the music commenced, and here the
whole was finished. I then proceeded from the chapel, and returned to
the Superior's room, followed by the other nuns, who walked two by two,
in their customary manner, with their hands folded on their breasts,
and their eyes cast down upon the floor. The nun who was to be my
companion in future, then walked at the end of the procession. On
reaching the Superior's door, they all left me, and I entered alone,
and found her with the Bishop and two priests.

The Superior now informed me, that having taken the black veil, it only
remained that I should swear the three oaths customary on becoming a
nun; and that some explanations would be necessary from her. I was now,
she told me, to have access to every part of the edifice, even to the
cellar, where two of the sisters were imprisoned for causes which she
did not mention. I must be informed, that one of my great duties was,
to obey the priests in all things; and this I soon learnt, to my utter
astonishment and horror, was to live in the practice of criminal
intercourse with them. I expressed some of the feelings which this
announcement excited in me, which came upon me like a flash of
lightning, but the only effect was to set her arguing with me, in favor
of the crime, representing it as a virtue acceptable to God, and
honorable to me. The priests, she said, were not situated like other
men, being forbidden to marry; while they lived secluded, laborious,
and self-denying lives for our salvation. They might, indeed, be
considered our saviours, as without their services we could not obtain
the pardon of sin, and must go to hell. Now, it was our solemn duty, on
withdrawing from the world, to consecrate our lives to religion, to
practice every species of self-denial. We could not become too humble,
nor mortify our feelings too far; this was to be done by opposing them,
and acting contrary to them; and what she proposed was, therefore,
pleasing in the sight of God. I now felt how foolish I had been to
place myself in the power of such persons as were around me.

From what she said I could draw no other conclusion, but that I was
required to act like the most abandoned of beings, and that all my
future associates were habitually guilty of the most heinous and
detestable crimes. When I repeated my expressions of surprise and
horror, she told me that such feelings were very common at first, and
that many other nuns had expressed themselves as I did, who had long
since changed their minds. She even said, that on her entrance into the
nunnery, she had felt like me.

Doubts, she declared, were among our greatest enemies. They would lead
us to question every point of duty, and induce us to waver at every
step. They arose only from remaining imperfection, and were always
evidence of sin. Our only way was to dismiss them immediately, repent,
and confess them. They were deadly sins, and would condemn us to hell,
if we should die without confessing them. Priests, she insisted, could
not sin. It was a thing impossible. Everything that they did, and
wished, was of course right. She hoped I would see the reasonableness
and duty of the oaths I was to take, and be faithful to them.

She gave me another piece of information which excited other feelings
in me, scarcely less dreadful. Infants were sometimes born in the
convent; but they were always baptized and immediately strangled! This
secured their everlasting happiness; for the baptism purified them from
all sinfulness, and being sent out of the world before they had time to
do anything wrong, they were at once admitted into heaven. How happy,
she exclaimed, are those who secure immortal happiness to such little
beings! Their little souls would thank those who kill their bodies, if
they had it in their power!

Into what a place, and among what society, had I been admitted! How
differently did a Convent now appear from what I had supposed it to be!
The holy women I had always fancied the nuns to be, the venerable Lady
Superior, what were they? And the priests of the seminary adjoining,
some of whom indeed I had had reason to think were base and profligate
men, what were they all? I now learnt they were often admitted into the
nunnery, and allowed to indulge in the greatest crimes, which they and
others called virtues.

After having listened for some time to the Superior alone, a number of
the nuns were admitted, and took a free part in the conversation. They
concurred in everything which she had told me, and repeated, without
any signs of shame or compunction, things which criminated themselves.
I must acknowledge the truth, and declare that all this had an effect
upon my mind. I questioned whether I might not be in the wrong, and
felt as if their reasoning might have some just foundation. I had been
several years under the tuition of Catholics, and was ignorant of the
Scriptures, and unaccustomed to the society, example, and conversation
of Protestants; had not heard any appeal to the Bible as authority, but
had been taught, both by precept and example, to receive as truth
everything said by the priests. I had not heard their authority
questioned, nor anything said of any other standard of faith but their
declarations. I had long been familiar with the corrupt and licentious
expressions which some of them use at confessions, and believed that
other women were also. I had no standard of duty to refer to, and no
judgment of my own which I knew how to use, or thought of using.

All around me insisted that my doubts proved only my own ignorance and
sinfulness; that they knew by experience they would soon give place to
true knowledge, and an advance in religion; and I felt something like
indecision.

Still, there was so much that disgusted me in the discovery I had now
made, of the debased characters around me, that I would most gladly
have escaped from the nunnery, and never returned. But that was a thing
not to be thought of. I was in their power, and this I deeply felt,
while I thought there was not one among the whole number of nuns to
whom I could look for kindness. There was one, however, who began to
speak to me at length in a tone that gained something of my
confidence,--the nun whom I have mentioned before as distinguished by
her oddity, Jane Ray, who made us so much amusement when I was a
novice. Although, as I have remarked, there was nothing in her face,
form, or manners, to give me any pleasure, she addressed me with
apparent friendliness; and while she seemed to concur in some things
spoken by them, took an opportunity to whisper a few words in my ear,
unheard by them, intimating that I had better comply with everything
the Superior desired, if I would save my life. I was somewhat alarmed
before, but I now became much more so, and determined to make no
further resistance. The Superior then made me repeat the three oaths;
and when I had sworn them, I was shown into one of the community rooms,
and remained some time with the nuns, who were released from their
usual employments, and enjoying a recreation day, on account of the
admission of a new sister. My feelings during the remainder of that
day, I shall not attempt to describe; but pass on to mention the
ceremonies which took place at dinner. This description may give an
idea of the manner in which we always took our meals, although there
were some points in which the breakfast and supper were different.

At 11 o'clock the bell rung for dinner, and the nuns all took their
places in a double row, in the same order as that in which they left
the chapel in the morning, except that my companion and myself were
stationed at the end of the line. Standing thus for a moment, with our
hands placed one on the other over the breast, and hidden in our large
cuffs, with our heads bent forward, and eyes fixed on the floor; an old
nun who stood at the door, clapped her hands as a signal for us to
proceed, and the procession moved on, while we all commenced the
repetition of litanies. We walked on in this order, repeating all the
way, until we reached the door of the dining-room, where we were
divided into two lines; those on the right passing down one side of the
long table, and those on the left the other, till all were in, and each
stopped in her place. The plates were all ranged, each with a knife,
fork, and spoon, rolled up in a napkin, and tied round with a linen
band marked with the owner's name. My own plate, knife, fork, &c., were
prepared like the rest, and on the band around them I found my new name
written:--"SAINT EUSTACE."

There we stood till all had concluded the litany; when the old nun who
had taken her place at the head of the table next the door, said the
prayer before meat, beginning "Benedicite," and we sat down. I do not
remember of what our dinner consisted, but we usually had soup and some
plain dish of meat, the remains of which were occasionally served up at
supper as a fricassee. One of the nuns who had been appointed to read
that day, rose and began to lecture from a book put into her hands by
the Superior, while the rest of us ate in perfect silence. The nun who
reads during dinner stays afterward to dine. As fast as we finished our
meals, each rolled up her knife, fork, and spoon in her napkin, and
bound them together with the band, and set with hands folded. The old
nun then said a short prayer, rose, stepped a little aside, clapped her
hands, and we marched towards the door, bowing as we passed before a
little chapel or glass box, containing a wax image of the infant Jesus.

Nothing important occurred until late in the afternoon, when, as I was
sitting in the community-room, Father Dufrèsne called me out, saying he
wished to speak with me. I feared what was his intention; but I dared
not disobey. In a private apartment, he treated me in a brutal manner;
and from two other priests I afterward received similar usage that
evening. Father Dufrèsne afterward appeared again; and I was compelled
to remain in company with him until morning.

I am assured that the conduct of the priests in our Convent has never
been exposed, and is not imagined by the people of the United States.
This induces me to say what I do, notwithstanding the strong reasons I
have to let it remain unknown. Still, I cannot force myself to speak on
such subjects except in the most brief manner.

CHAPTER VII.

Daily Ceremonies--Jane Ray among the Nuns.

On Thursday morning, the bell rung at half-past six to awaken us. The
old nun who was acting as night-watch immediately spoke aloud:

"Voici le Seigneur qui vient." (Behold the Lord cometh.) The nuns all
responded:

"Allons-y devant lui." (Let us go and meet him.)

We then rose immediately, and dressed as expeditiously as possible,
stepping into the passage-way at the foot of our beds as soon as we
were ready, and taking places each beside her opposite companion. Thus
we were soon drawn up in a double row the whole length of the room,
with our hands folded across our breasts, and concealed in the broad
cuffs of our sleeves. Not a word was uttered. When the signal was
given, we all proceeded to the community-room, which is spacious, and
took our places in rows facing the entranced, near which the Superior
was seated in a vergiere, or large chair.

We first repeated, "Au nom du Père, du Fils, et du Saint Esprit--Ainsi
soit il." (In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost--Amen.)

We then kneeled and kissed the floor; then, still on our knees, we said
a very long prayer, beginning: Divin Jesus, Sauveur de mon âme, (Divine
Jesus, Saviour of my soul). Then came the Lord's prayer, three Hail
Marys, four creeds, and five confessions (confesse à Dieu).

Next we repeated the ten commandments. Then we repeated the Acts of
Faith, and a prayer to the Virgin in Latin, (which, like every thing
else in Latin, I never understood a word of.) Next we said the litanies
of the holy name of Jesus, in Latin, which was afterward to be repeated
several times in the course of the day. Then came the prayer for the
beginning of the day; then bending down, we commenced the Orison Mental
(or Mental Orison), which lasted about an hour and a half.

This exercise was considered peculiarly solemn. We were told in the
nunnery that a certain saint was saved by the use of it, as he never
omitted it. It consists of several parts: First, the Superior read to
us a chapter from a book, which occupied five minutes. Then profound
silence prevailed for fifteen minutes, during which we were meditating
upon it. Then she read another chapter of equal length, on a different
subject and we meditated upon that another quarter of an hour; and
after a third reading and meditation, we finished the exercise with a
prayer, called an act of contrition, in which we asked forgiveness for
the sins committed during the Orison.

During this hour and a half I became very weary, having before been
kneeling for some time, and having then to sit in another position more
uncomfortable, with my feet under me, my hands clasped, and my body
bent humbly forward, with my head bowed down.

When the Orison was over, we all rose to the upright kneeling posture,
and repeated several prayers, and the litanies of the providences,
"providence de Dieu," &c.; then followed a number of Latin prayers,
which we repeated on the way to mass, for in the nunnery we had mass
daily.

When mass was over we proceeded in our usual order to the eating-room
to breakfast, practising the same forms which I have described at
dinner. Having made our meal in silence, we repeated the litanies of
the "holy name of Jesus" as we proceeded to the community-room; and
such as had not finished them on their arrival, threw themselves upon
their knees, and remained there until they had gone through with them,
and then kissing the floor, rose again.

At nine o'clock commenced the lecture, which was read by a nun
appointed to perform that duty that day; all the rest of us in the room
being engaged in work.

The nuns were at this time distributed in different community-rooms, at
different kinds of work, and in each were listening to a lecture. This
exercise continued until ten o'clock, when the recreation-bell rang. We
still continued our work, but the nuns began to converse with each
other, on subjects permitted by the rules in the hearing of the old
nuns, one of whom was seated in each of the groups.

At half-past ten the silence bell rang, and then conversation instantly
ceased, and the recitation of some Latin prayers commenced, which
continued half an hour.

At eleven o'clock the dinner-bell rang, and then we proceeded to the
dining-room, and went through the forms and ceremonies of the preceding
day. We proceeded two by two. The old nun who had the command of us,
clapped her hands as the first couple reached the door, when we
stopped. The first two dipped their fingers into the font, touched the
holy water to the breast, forehead, and each side, thus forming a
cross, said, "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen,"
and then walked on to the dining-room, repeating the litanies. The rest
followed their example. On reaching the door the couples divided, and
the two rows of nuns marching up, stopped and faced the table against
their plates. There we stood, repeating the close of the litany aloud.
The old nun then pronounced

"BENEDICITE,"

and we sat down. One of our number began to read a lecture, which
continued during the whole meal: she stays to eat after the rest have
retired. When we had dined, each of us folded up her napkin, and again
folded her hands. The old nun then repeated a short prayer in French,
and stepping aside from the head of the table, let us pass out as we
came in. Each of us bowed in passing the little chapel near the door,
which is a glass case, containing a waxen figure of the infant Jesus.
When we reached the community-room we took our places in rows, and
kneeled upon the floor, while a nun read aloud, "Douleurs de notre
Sainte Marie" (the sorrows of our holy Mary.) At the end of each verse
we responded "Ave Maria." We then repeated again the litanies of the
Providences, and the

"BENIS," &c.

Then we kissed the floor, and rising, took our work, with leave to
converse on permitted subjects; that is what is called _recreation_
till one o'clock. We then began to repeat litanies, one at a time in
succession, still engaged at sewing, for an hour.

At two o'clock commenced the afternoon lectures, which lasted till near
three. At that hour one of the nuns stood up in the middle of the room,
and asked each of us a question out of the catechism; and such as were
unable to answer correctly, were obliged to kneel down, until that
exercise was concluded, upon as many dry peas as there were verses in
the chapter out of which they were questioned. This seems like a
penance of no great importance; but I have sometimes kneeled on peas
until I suffered great inconvenience, and even pain. It soon makes one
feel as if needles were running through the skin: whoever thinks it a
trifle, had better try it.

At four o'clock recreation commenced, when we were allowed, as usual,
to speak to each other, while at work.

At half-past four we began to repeat prayers in Latin, while we worked,
and concluded about five o'clock, when we commenced repeating the
"prayers for the examination of conscience," the "prayer after
confession," the "prayer before sacrament," and the "prayer after
sacrament." Thus we continued our work until dark, when we laid it
aside, and began to go over the same prayers which we had repeated in
the morning, with the exception of the orison mental; instead of that
long exercise, we examined our consciences, to determine whether we had
performed the resolution we had made in the morning; and such as had
kept it, repeated an "acte de joie," or expression of gratitude; while
such as had not, said an "acte de contrition."

When the prayers were concluded, any nun who had been disobedient in
the day, knelt and asked pardon of the Superior and her companions "for
the scandal she had caused them;" and then requested the Superior to
give her a penance to perform. When all the penances, had been imposed,
we all proceeded to the eating-room to supper, repeating litanies on
the way.

At supper the ceremonies were the same as at dinner, except that there
was no lecture read. We ate in silence, and went out bowing to the
chapelle, and repeating litanies. Returning to the community-room which
we had left, we had more prayers to repeat, which are called La
couronne, (crown,) which consists of the following parts:

1st, Four Paters,
2d, Four Ave Marias,
3d, Four Gloria Patris,
4th, Benis, &c.

At the close of these we kissed the floor; after which we had
recreation till half-past eight o'clock, being allowed to converse on
permitted subjects, but closely watched, and not allowed to sit in
corners.

At half-past eight a bell was rung, and a chapter was read to us, in a
book of meditations, to employ our minds upon during our waking hours
at night.

Standing near the door, we dipped our fingers in the holy water,
crossed and blessed ourselves, and proceeded up to the sleeping-room,
in the usual order, two by two. When we had got into bed, we repeated a
prayer beginning with

"Mon Dieu, je vous donne mon coeur,"
"God, I give you my heart;"

and then an old nun, bringing some holy water, sprinkled it on our beds
to drive away the devil, while we took some and crossed ourselves again.

At nine o'clock the bell rung, and all who were awake repeated a
prayer, called the offrande; those who were asleep were considered as
excused.

After my admission among the nuns, I had more opportunity than before,
to observe the conduct of mad Jane Ray. She behaved quite differently
from the rest, and with a degree of levity irreconcilable with the
rules. She was, as I have described her, a large woman, with nothing
beautiful or attractive in her face, form, or manners; careless in her
dress, and of a restless disposition, which prevented her from steadily
applying herself to any thing for any length of time, and kept her
roving about, and almost perpetually talking to somebody or other. It
would be very difficult to give an accurate description of this
singular woman; dressed in the plain garments of the nuns, bound by the
same vows, and accustomed to the same life, resembling them in nothing
else, and frequently interrupting all their employments. She was
apparently almost always studying or pursuing some odd fancy; now
rising from sewing, to walk up and down, or straying in from another
apartment, looking about, addressing some of us, and passing out again,
or saying something to make us laugh, in periods of the most profound
silence. But what showed that she was no novelty, was the little
attention paid to her, and the levity with which she was treated by the
old nuns; even the Superior every day passed over irregularities in
this singular person, which she would have punished with penances, or
at least have met with reprimands, in any other. From what I saw of
her, I soon perceived that she betrayed two distinct traits of
character; a kind disposition towards such as she chose to prefer, and
a pleasure in teasing those she disliked, or such as had offended her.

CHAPTER VIII.

I will now give from memory, a general description of the interior of
the Convent of Black nuns, except the few apartments which I never saw.
I may be inaccurate in some things, as the apartments and passages of
that spacious building are numerous and various; but I am willing to
risk my credit for truth and sincerity on the general correspondence
between my description and things as they are. And this would, perhaps
be as good a case as any by which to test the truth of my statements,
were it possible to obtain access to the interior. It is well known,
that none but veiled nuns, the bishop, and priests, are ever admitted;
and, of course, that I cannot have seen what I profess to describe, if
I have not been a Black nun. [Footnote: I ought to have made an
exception here, which I may enlarge upon in future Certain other
persons are sometimes admitted.] The priests who read this book, will
acknowledge to themselves the truth of my description; but will, of
course deny it to the world, and probably exert themselves to destroy
or discredit, I offer to every reader the following description,
knowing that time may possibly throw open those secret recesses, and
allow the entrance of those who can satisfy themselves, with their own
eyes, of its truth. Some of my declarations may be thought deficient in
evidence; and this they must of necessity be in the present state of
things. But here is a kind of evidence on which I rely, as I see how
unquestionable and satisfactory it must prove, whenever it shall be
obtained.

If the interior of the Black Nunnery, whenever it shall be examined, is
materially different from the following description, then I can claim
no confidence of my readers. If it resembles it, they will, I presume,
place confidence in some of those declarations, on which I may never be
corroborated by true and living witnesses.

I am sensible that great changes may be made in the furniture of
apartments; that new walls may be constructed, or old ones removed; and
I have been credibly informed, that masons have been employed in the
nunnery since I left it. I well know, however, that entire changes
cannot be made; and that enough must remain as it was to substantiate
my description, whenever the truth shall be known.

_The First Story_.

Beginning at the extremity of the right wing of the Convent, towards
Notre Dame-street, on the first story, there is--

1st. The nuns' private chapel, adjoining which is a passage to a small
projection of the building, extending from the upper story to the
ground, with very small windows. Into the passage we were sometimes
required to bring wood from the yard and pile it up for use.

2d. A large community-room, with plain benches fixed against the wall
to sit, and lower ones in front to place our feet upon. There is a
fountain in the passage near the chimney at the farther end, for
washing the hands and face, with a green curtain sliding on a rod
before it. This passage leads to the old nuns' sleeping-room on the
right, and the Superior's sleeping-room, just beyond it, as well as to
a staircase which conducts to the nuns' sleeping-room, or dortoir,
above. At the end of the passage is a door opening into--

3d. The dining-room; this is larger than the community-room, and has
three long tables for eating, and a chapelle, or collection of little
pictures, a crucifix, and a small image of the infant Saviour in a
glass case. This apartment has four doors, by the first of which we are
supposed to have entered, while one opens to a pantry, and the third
and fourth to the two next apartments.

4th. A large community-room, with tables for sewing, and a staircase on
the opposite left-hand corner.

5th. A community-room for prayer, used by both nuns and novices. In the
farther right-hand corner is a small room partitioned off, called the
room for the examination of conscience, which I had visited while a
novice by permission of the Superior, and where nuns and novices
occasionally resorted to reflect on their character, usually in
preparation for the sacrament, or when they had transgressed some of
the rules. This little room was hardly large enough to contain half a
dozen persons at a time.

6th. Next beyond is a large community-room for Sundays. A door leads to
the yard, and thence to a gate in the wall on the cross street.

7th. Adjoining this is a sitting-room, fronting on the cross street,
with two windows, and a store-room on the side opposite them. There is
but little furniture, and that very plain.

8th. From this room a door leads into what I may call the wax-room, as
it contains many figures in wax, not intended for sale. There we
sometimes used to pray, or meditate on the Saviour's passion. This room
projects from the main building; leaving it, you enter a long passage,
with cupboards on the right, in which are stored crockery-ware, knives
and forks, and other articles of table furniture, to replace those worn
out or broken--all of the plainest description; also, shovels, tongs,
&c. This passage leads to--

9th. A corner room, with a few benches, &c., and a door leading to a
gate on the street. Here some of the medicines were kept, and persons
were often admitted on business, or to obtain medicines with tickets
from the priests; and waited till the Superior or an old nun could be
sent for. Beyond this room we were never allowed to go; and I cannot
speak from personal knowledge of what came next.

_The Second Story_.

Beginning, as before, at the western extremity of the same wing, but on
the second story, the farthest apartment in that direction which I ever
entered was--

1st. The nuns' sleeping-room, or dormitory, which I have already
described. Here is an access to the projection mentioned in speaking of
the first story. The stairs by which we came up to bed are at the
farther end of the room; and near them a crucifix and font of holy
water. A door at the end of the room opens into a passage, with two
small rooms, and closets between them, containing bedclothes. Next you
enter--

2d. A small community-room, beyond which is a passage with a narrow
staircase, seldom used, which leads into the fourth community-room, in
the first story. Following the passage just mentioned, you enter by a
door--

3d. A little sitting-room, furnished in the following manner: with
chairs, a sofa, on the north side, covered with a red-figured cover and
fringe, a table in the middle, commonly bearing one or two books, an
inkstand, pens, &c. At one corner is a little projection into the room,
caused by a staircase leading from above to the floor below, without
any communication with the second story. This room has a door opening
upon a staircase leading down to the yard, on the opposite side of
which is a gate opening into the cross street. By this way the
physician is admitted, except when he comes later than usual. When he
comes in, he usually sits a little while, until a nun goes into the
adjoining nuns' sick-room, to see if all is ready, and returns to admit
him. After prescribing for the patients he goes no farther, but returns
by the way he enters; and these two are the only rooms into which he is
ever admitted, except the public hospital.

4th. The nuns' sick-room adjoins the little sitting-room on the east,
and has, I think, four windows towards the north, with beds ranged in
two rows from end to end, and a few more between them, near the
opposite extremity. The door from the sitting-room swings to the left,
and behind it is a table, while a glass case, to the right, contains a
wax figure of the infant Saviour, with several sheep. Near the
northeastern corner of this room are two doors, one of which opens into
a long and narrow passage leading to the head of the great staircase
that conducts to the cross street. By this passage the physician
sometimes finds his way to the sick-room, when he comes later than
usual. He rings the bell at the gate, which I was told had a concealed
pull, known only to him and the priests, proceeds up-stairs and through
the passage, rapping three times at the door of the sick-room, which is
opened by a nun in attendance, after she has given one rap in reply.
When he has visited his patients, and prescribed for them, he returns
by the same way.

5th. Next beyond this sick-room, is a large unoccupied apartment, half
divided by two partial partitions, which leave an open space in the
middle. Here some of the old nuns commonly sit in the day-time.

6th. A door from this apartment opens into another not appropriated to
any particular use, but containing a table, where medicines are
sometimes prepared by an old nun, who is usually found there. Passing
through this room, you enter a passage with doors on its four sides:
that on the left, which is kept fastened on the inside, leads to the
staircase and gate; that in front, to private sick-rooms soon to be
described.

7th. That on the right leads to another, appropriated to nuns suffering
with the most loathsome disease. There were usually a number of straw
mattresses, in that room, as I well knew, having helped to carry them
in after the yard-man had filled them. A door beyond enters into a
store-room, which extends also beyond this apartment. On the right,
another door opens into another passage; crossing which, you enter by a
door--

8th. A room with a bed and screen in one corner, on which nuns were
laid to be examined before their introduction into the sick-room last
mentioned. Another door, opposite the former, opens into a passage, in
which is a staircase leading down.

9th. Beyond this is a spare-room, sometimes used to store apples, boxes
of different things, &c.

10th. Returning now to the passage which opens on one side upon the
stairs to the gate, we enter the only remaining door, which leads into
an apartment usually occupied by some of the old nuns, and frequently
by the Superior.

11th, and 12th. Beyond this are two more sick-rooms, in one of which
those nuns stay who are waiting their accouchment, and in the other,
those who have passed it.

13th. The next is a small sitting-room, where a priest waits to baptize
the infants previous to their murder. A passage leads from this room,
on the left, by the doors of two succeeding apartments, neither of
which have I ever entered.

14th. The first of them is the "holy retreat," or room occupied by the
priests, while suffering the penalty of their licentiousness.

15th. The other is a sitting-room, to which they have access. Beyond
these the passage leads to two rooms, containing closets for the
storage of various articles, and two others where persons are received
who come on business.

The public hospitals succeed, and extend a considerable distance, I
believe, to the extremity of the building. By a public entrance in that
part, priests often come into the nunnery; and I have often seen some
of them thereabouts, who must have entered by that way. Indeed, priests
often get into the "holy retreat" without exposing themselves to the
view of persons in other parts of the Convent, and have been first
known to be there, by the yard-man being sent to the Seminary for their
clothes.

The Congregational Nunnery was founded by a nun called Sister
Bourgeoise. She taught a school in Montreal, and left property for the
foundation of a Convent. Her body is buried, and her heart is kept,
under the nunnery, in an iron chest, which has been shown to me, with
the assurance that it continues in perfect preservation, although she
has been dead more than one hundred and fifty years. In the chapel is
the following inscription: "Soeur Bourgeoise, Fondatrice du
Couvent"--Sister Bourgeoise, Founder of the Convent.

Nothing was more common than for the Superior to step hastily into our
community-rooms, while numbers of us were assembled there, and hastily
communicate her wishes in words like these:--

"Here are the parents of such a novice: come with me, and bear me out
in this story." She would then mention the outlines of a tissue of
falsehoods, she had just invented, that we might be prepared to
fabricate circumstances, and throw in whatever else might favor the
deception. This was justified, and indeed most highly commended, by the
system of faith in which we were instructed.

It was a common remark made at the initiation of a new nun into the
Black nun department, that is, to receive the black veil, that the
introduction of another novice into the Convent as a veiled nun, caused
the introduction of a veiled nun into heaven as a saint, which was on
account of the singular disappearance of some of the older nuns at the
entrance of new ones!

To witness the scenes which often occurred between us and strangers,
would have struck a person very powerfully, if he had known how truth
was set at naught. The Superior, with a serious and dignified air, and
a pleasant voice and aspect, would commence a recital of things most
favorable to the character of the absent novice, and representing her
as equally fond of her situation, and beloved by the other inmates. The
tale told by the Superior, whatever it was, however unheard before,
might have been any of her statements, was then attested by us, who, in
every way we could think of, endeavored to confirm her declarations,
beyond the reach of doubt.

Sometimes the Superior would intrust the management of such a case to
some of the nuns, whether to habituate us to the practice in which she
was so highly accomplished, or to relieve herself of what would have
been a serious burden to most other persons, or to ascertain whether
she could depend upon us, or all together, I cannot tell. Often,
however, have I seen her throw open a door, and say, in a hurried
manner, "Who can tell the best story?"

One point, on which we received frequent and particular, instructions
was, the nature of falsehoods. On this subject I have heard many a
speech, I had almost said many a sermon; and I was led to believe that
it was one of great importance, one on which it was a duty to be well
informed, as well as to act. "What!" exclaimed a priest one day--"what,
a nun of your age, and not know the difference between a wicked and a
religious lie!"

He then went on, as had been done many times previously in my hearing,
to show the essential difference between the two different kinds of
falsehoods. A lie told merely for the injury of another, for our own
interest alone, or for no object at all, he painted as a sin worthy of
penance. But a lie told for the good of the church or Convent, was
meritorious, and of course the telling of it a duty. And of this class
of lies there were many varieties and shades. This doctrine has been
inculcated on me and my companions in the nunnery, more times than I
can enumerate: and to say that it was generally received, would be to
tell a part of the truth. We often saw the practice of it, and were
frequently made to take part in it. Whenever anything which the
Superior thought important, could be most conveniently accomplished by
falsehood, she resorted to it without scruple.

There was a class of cases in which she more frequently relied on
deception than any other.

The friends of the novices frequently applied at the Convent to see
them, or at least to inquire after their welfare. It was common for
them to be politely refused an interview, on some account or other,
generally a mere pretext; and then the Superior usually sought to make
as favorable an impression as possible on the visitors. Sometimes she
would make up a story on the spot, and tell the strangers; requiring
some of us to confirm it, in the most convincing way we could.

At other times she would prefer to make over to us the task of
deceiving, and we were commended in proportion to our ingenuity and
success.

Some nun usually showed her submission, by immediately stepping
forward. She would then add, perhaps, that the parents of such a
novice, whom she named, were in waiting, and it was necessary that they
should be told such, and such, and such things. To perform so difficult
a task well, was considered a difficult duty, and it was one of the
most certain ways to gain the favour of the Superior. Whoever
volunteered to make a story on the spot, was sent immediately to tell
it, and the other nuns present were hurried off with her under strict
injunctions to uphold her in every thing she might state. The Superior,
as there was every reason to believe, on all such occasions, when she
did not herself appear, hastened to the apartment adjoining that in
which the nuns were going, there to listen through the thin partition,
to hear whether all performed their parts aright. It was not uncommon
for her to go rather further, when she wanted time to give such
explanations as she could have desired. She would then enter abruptly,
ask, "Who can tell a good story this morning?" and hurry us off without
a moment's delay, to do our best at a venture, without waiting for
instructions. It would be curious, could a stranger from "the wicked
world" outside the Convent witness such a scene. One of the nuns, who
felt in a favourable humour to undertake the proposed task, would step
promptly forward, and signify her readiness in the usual way: by a
knowing wink of one eye, and slight toss of the head.

"Well go and do the best you can," the superior would say; "and all the
rest of you must mind and swear to it." The latter part of the order,
at least, was always performed; for in every such case, all the nuns
present appeared as unanimous witnesses of everything that was uttered
by the spokesman of the day.

We were constantly hearing it repeated, that we must never again look
upon ourselves as our own; but must remember, that we were solemnly and
irrevocably devoted to God. Whatever was required of us, we were called
upon to yield under the most solemn considerations. I cannot speak on
every particular with equal freedom: but I wish my readers clearly to
understand the condition in which we were placed, and the means used to
reduce us to what we had to submit to. Not only were we required to
perform the several tasks imposed upon us at work, prayers, and
penances, under the idea that we were performing solemn duties to our
Maker, but every thing else which was required of us, we were
constantly told, was something indispensable in his sight. The priests,
we admitted were the servants of God, specially appointed by his
authority, to teach us our duty, to absolve us from sin, and to lead us
to heaven. Without their assistance, we had allowed we could never
enjoy the favour of God; unless they administered the sacraments to us,
we could not enjoy everlasting happiness. Having consented to
acknowledge all this, we had no other objection to urge against
admitting any other demand that might be made for or by them. If we
thought an act ever so criminal, the Superior would tell us that the
priests acted under the direct sanction of God, and _could not sin_. Of
course, then, it could not be wrong to comply with any of their
requests, because they could not demand any thing but what was right.
On the contrary, to refuse to do any thing they asked, would
necessarily be sinful. Such doctrines admitted, and such practices
performed, it will not seem wonderful when I mention that we often felt
something of their preposterous character.

Sometimes we took a pleasure in ridiculing some of the favourite themes
of our teachers; and I recollect one subject particularly, which at one
period afforded us repeated merriment. It may seem irreverent in me to
give the account, but I do it to show how things of a solemn nature
were sometimes treated in the Convent, by women bearing the title of
saints. A Canadian Novice, who spoke very broken English, one day
remarked that she was performing some duty "for the God." This peculiar
expression had something ridiculous to the ears of some of us; and it
was soon repeated again and again, in application to various ceremonies
which we had to perform. Mad Jane Ray seized upon it with avidity, and
with her aid it soon took the place of a by-word in conversation, so
that we were constantly reminding each other, that we were doing this
and that thing, how trifling and unmeaning soever, "for the God." Nor
did we stop here: when the superior called upon us to bear witness to
one of her religious lies, or to fabricate the most spurious one the
time would admit; to save her the trouble, we were sure to be reminded,
on our way to the strangers' room, that we were doing it "for the God."
And so it was when other things were mentioned--every thing which
belonged to our condition, was spoken of in similar terms.

I have hardly detained the reader long enough on the subject, to give
him a just impression of the stress laid on confession. It is one of
the great points to which our attention was constantly directed. We
were directed to keep a strict and constant watch over our thoughts; to
have continually before our minds the rules of the Convent, to compare
the one with the other, remember every devotion, and tell all, even the
smallest, at confession, either to the Superior or to the priest. My
mind was thus kept in a continual state of activity, which proved very
wearisome; and it required the constant exertion of our teachers, to
keep us up to the practice they inculcated.

Another tale recurs to me, of those which were frequently told us to
make us feel the importance of unreserved confession. A nun of our
Convent, who had hidden some sin from her confessor, died suddenly, and
without any one to confess her. Her sisters assembled to pray for the
peace of her soul, when she appeared, and informed them, that it would
be of no use, but rather troublesome to her, as her pardon was
impossible. [Footnote: Since the first edition, I have found this tale
related in a Romish book, as one of very ancient date. It was told to
us as having taken place in our Convent.] The doctrine is, that prayers
made for souls guilty of unconfessed sin, do but sink them deeper in
hell; and this is the reason I have heard given for not praying for
Protestants.

The authority of the priests in everything, and the enormity of every
act which opposes it, were also impressed upon our minds, in various
ways, by our teachers. A "Father" told us the following story one day
at catechism.

A man once died who had failed to pay some money which the priest had
asked of him; he was condemned to be burnt in purgatory until he should
pay it but had permission to come back to this world, and take a human
body to work in. He made his appearance therefore again on earth, and
hired himself to a rich man as a labourer. He worked all day with the
fire burning in him, unseen by other people; but while he was in bed
that night, a girl in an adjoining room, perceiving the smell of
brimstone, looked through a crack in the wall, and saw him covered with
flames. She informed his master, who questioned him the next morning,
and found that his hired man was secretly suffering the pains of
purgatory, for neglecting to pay a certain sum of money to the priest.
He, therefore furnished him the amount due; it was paid, and the
servant went off immediately to heaven. The priest cannot forgive any
debt due unto him, because it is the Lord's estate.

While at confession, I was urged to hide nothing from the priest, and
have been told by them, that they already knew what was in my heart,
but would not tell, because it was necessary for me to confess it. I
really believed that the priests were acquainted with my thoughts; and
often stood in great awe of them. They often told me they had power to
strike me dead at any moment.

CHAPTER IX.

I found that I had several namesakes among the nuns, for there were two
others who already bore my new name, Saint Eustace. This was not a
solitary case, for there were five Saint Marys, and three Saint Monros,
besides two novices of that name. Of my namesakes I have little to say,
for they resembled most of the nuns; being so much cut off from
intercourse with me and the other sisters, that I never saw anything in
them, nor learnt any thing about them, worth mentioning.

Several of my new companions were squaws, who had taken the veil at
different times. They were from some of the Indian settlements in the
country, but were not distinguishable by any striking habits of
character from other nuns, and were generally not very different in
their appearance when in their usual dress, and engaged in their
customary occupations. It was evident, that they were treated with much
kindness and lenity by the Superior and the old nuns; and this I
discovered was done in order to render them as well contented and happy
in their situation as possible. I should have attributed the motives
for this partiality to their wishing that they might not influence
others to keep away, had I not known they were, like ourselves, unable
to exert such an influence. And therefore, I could not satisfy my own
mind why this difference was made. Many of the Indians were remarkably
devoted to the priests, believing every thing they were taught; and as
it is represented to be not only a high honor, but a real advantage to
a family, to have one of its members become a nun, Indian parents will
often pay large sums of money for the admission of their daughters into
a convent. The father of one of the squaws, I was told, paid to the
Superior nearly her weight in silver on her reception, although he was
obliged to sell nearly all his property to raise the money. This he did
voluntarily, because he thought himself overpaid by having the
advantage of her prayers, self-sacrifices, &c. for himself and the
remainder of his family. The squaws sometimes served to amuse us; for
when we were partially dispirited or gloomy, the Superior would
occasionally send them to dress themselves in their Indian garments,
which usually excited us to merriment.

Among the squaw nuns whom I particularly remember, was one of the
Sainte Hypolites, not the one who figured in a dreadful scene,
described in another part of this narrative, but a woman of a far more
mild and humane character.

Three or four days after my reception, the Superior sent me into the
cellar for coal; and after she had given me directions, I proceeded
down a staircase, with a lamp in my hand. I soon found myself upon the
bare earth, in a spacious place, so dark, that I could not at once
distinguish its form, or size, but I observed that it had very solid
stone walls, and was arched overhead, at no great elevation. Following
my directions, I proceeded onward from the foot of the stairs, where
appeared to be one end of the cellar. After walking about fifteen
paces, I passed three small doors, on the right, fastened with large
iron bolts on the outside, pushed into posts of stone-work, and each
having a small opening above, covered with a fine grating, secured by a
smaller bolt. On my left, were three similar doors, resembling these,
and placed opposite them.

Beyond these, the space became broader; the doors evidently closed
small compartments, projecting from the outer wall of the cellar. I
soon stepped upon a wooden floor, on which were heaps of wool, coarse
linen, and other articles, apparently deposited there for occasional
use. I soon crossed the floor, and found the bare earth again under my
feet.

A little farther on, I found the cellar again contracted in size, by a
row of closets, or smaller compartments projecting on each side. These
were closed by doors of a different description from the first, having
a simple fastening, and no opening through them. Just beyond, on the
left side, I passed a staircase leading up, and then three doors, much
resembling those first described, standing opposite three more, on the
other side of the cellar. Having passed these, I found the cellar
enlarged as before, and here the earth appeared as if mixed with some
whitish substance, which attracted my attention.

As I proceeded, I found the whiteness increase, until the surface
looked almost like snow, and in a short time I observed before me, a
hole dug so deep into the earth that I could perceive no bottom. I
stopped to observe it.--It was circular, perhaps twelve or fifteen feet
across; in the middle of the cellar, and unprotected by any kind of
curb, so that one might easily have walked into it, in the dark.

The white substance which I had observed, was spread all over the
surface around it; and lay in such quantities on all sides, that it
seemed as if a great deal of it must have been thrown into the hole. It
immediately occurred to me that the white substance was lime, and that
this must be the place where the infants were buried, after being
murdered, as the Superior had informed me. I knew that lime is often
used by Roman Catholics in burying-places; and in this way I accounted
for its being scattered about the spot in such quantities.

This was a shocking thought to me; but I can hardly tell how it
affected me, as I had already been prepared to expect dreadful things
in the Convent, and had undergone trials which prevented me from
feeling as I should formerly have done in similar circumstances.

I passed the spot, therefore, with distressing thoughts, it is true,
about the little corpses, which might be in that secret burying-place,
but with recollections also of the declarations which I had heard,
about the favor done their souls by sending them straight to heaven,
and the necessary virtue accompanying all the actions of the priests.

Whether I noticed them or not, at the time, there is a window or two on
each, nearly against the hole, in at which are sometimes thrown
articles brought to them from without, for the use of the Convent.
Through the windows on my right, which opens into the yard, towards the
cross street, lime is received from carts; and I then saw a large heap
of it near the place.

Passing the hole, I came to a spot where was another projection on each
side, with three cells like those I first described.--Beyond them, in
another broad part of the cellar, were heaps of vegetables, and other
things, on the right; and on the left I found the charcoal I was in
search of. This was placed in a heap against the wall, as I might then
have observed, near a small high window, like the rest, at which it is
thrown in. Beyond this spot, at a short distance, the cellar terminated.

The top quite to that point, is arched overhead, though at different
heights, for the earth on the bottom is uneven, and in some places
several feet higher than in others.

Not liking to be alone in so spacious and gloomy a part of the Convent,
especially after the discovery I had made, I hastened to fill my basket
with coal, and to return.

Here then I was, in a place which I had considered as the nearest
imitation of heaven to be found on earth, among a society where deeds
were constantly perpetrated, which I had believed to be most criminal,
and I had now found the place in which harmless infants were
unfeelingly thrown out of sight, after being murdered.

And yet, such is the power of instruction and example, although not
satisfied, as many around me seemed to be, that all was righteous and
proper, I sometimes was half inclined to believe it, for the priests
could do no sin, and this was done by priests.

Among the first instructions I received from the Superior, were such as
prepared me to admit priests into the nunnery from the street at
irregular hours. It is no secret, that priests enter and go out; but if
they were to be watched by any person in St. Paul's street all day
long, no irregularity might be suspected; and they might be supposed to
visit the Convent for the performance of religious ceremonies merely.

But if a person was near the gate at midnight, he might sometimes form
a different opinion; for when a stray priest is shut out of the
Seminary, or is otherwise put to the need of seeking a lodging, he is
always sure of being admitted to the black nunnery. Nobody but a priest
or the physician can ring the bell at the sick-room door; much less can
any others gain admittance. The pull of the bell is entirely concealed,
somewhere on the outside of the gate, I have been told.

He makes himself known as a priest by a peculiar kind of hissing sound,
made by the tongue against the teeth, while they are kept closed, and
the lips open. The nun within, who delays to open the door, until
informed what kind of an applicant is there, immediately recognizes the
signal, and replies with two inarticulate sounds, such as are often
used instead of yes, with the mouth closed.

The Superior seemed to consider this part of my instructions quite
important, and taught me the signals. I had often occasion to use them;
I have been repeatedly called to the door, in the night, while watching
in a sick room, and on reaching it, heard the short hissing sound I
have mentioned; then, according to my standing orders, unfastened the
door, admitted the priest, who was at liberty to go where he pleased. I
will name Mr. Bierze, from St. Denis.

The books used in the nunnery, at least such as I recollect of them,
were the following. Most of these are lecture books, or such as are
used by the daily readers, while we were at work, and meals. These were
all furnished by the Superior, out of her library, to which we never
had access. She was informed when we had done with one book, and then
exchanged it for such another as she pleased to select.

Le Miroir du Chrétien (Christian Mirror), History of Rome, History of
the Church, Life of Soeur Bourgeoise, (the founder of the Convent), in
two volumes, L'Ange Conducteur (the Guardian Angel), L'Ange Chrétien
(the Christian Angel), Les Vies des Saints (Lives of Saints), in
several volumes, Dialogues, a volume consisting of conversations
between a Protestant Doctor, called Dr. D. and a Catholic gentleman, on
the articles of faith, in which, after much ingenious reasoning, the
former was confuted. One large book, the name of which I have
forgotten, occupied us nine or ten months at our lectures, night and
morning. L'Instruction de la Jeunesse (the Instruction of Youth),
containing much about Convents, and the education of persons in the
world, with a great deal on confessions, &c. Examen de la Conscience,
(Examination of Conscience), is a book frequently used.

I may here remark, that I never saw a Bible in the Convent from the day
I entered as a novice, until that on which I effected my escape. The
Catholic New Testament, commonly called the Evangile, was read to us
about three or four times a year. The Superior directed the reader what
passage to select; but we never had it in our hands to read when we
pleased. I often heard the Protestant Bible spoken of in bitter terms,
as a most dangerous book, and one which never ought to be in the hands
of common people.

CHAPTER X.

Large quantities of bread are made in the Black Nunnery every week, for
besides what is necessary to feed the nuns, many of the poor are
supplied. When a priest wishes to give a loaf of bread to a poor
person, he gives him an order, which is presented at the Convent. The
making of bread is therefore one of the most laborious employments in
the Institution.

The manufacture of wax candles was another important branch of business
in the nunnery. It was carried on in a small room, on the first floor,
thence called the Ciergerie, or wax-room; _cierge_ being the French
word for a _wax candle_. I was sometimes sent to read the daily lecture
and catechism to the nuns employed there, but found it a very
unpleasant task, as the smell rising from the melted wax gave me a
sickness at the stomach. The employment was considered rather
unhealthy, and those were assigned to it who had the strongest
constitutions. The nuns who were more commonly employed in that room,
were Sainte Marie, Sainte Catharine, Sainte Charlotte, Sainte Francis,
Sainte Hyacinthe, Sainte Hypolite, and others. But with these, as with
other persons in the Convent, I was never allowed to speak, except
under circumstances before mentioned. I was sent to read, and was not
allowed even to answer the most trivial question, if one were asked me.
Should a nun say, "what o'clock is it?" I never should have dared to
reply, but was required to report her to the Superior.

Much stress was laid on the _sainte scapulaire_, or, holy scapulary.
This is a small band of cloth or silk, formed and wrought in a peculiar
manner, to be tied around the neck by two strings, fastened to the
ends. I have made many of them, having been sometimes set to make them
in the Convent. On one side is worked a kind of double cross, (thus,
XX) and on the other I. II. S., the meaning of which I do not exactly
know. Such a band is called a scapulary, and many miracles are
attributed to its power. Children on first receiving the communion are
often presented with scapularies, which they are taught to regard with
great reverence. We were told of the wonders effected by their means,
in the addresses made to us, by priests at catechism or lectures. I
will repeat one or two of the stories which occur to me.

A Roman Catholic servant woman, who had concealed some of her sins at
confession, acted so hypocritical a part as to make her mistress
believe her a _décote_, or a strict observer of her duty. She even
imposed upon her confessor, to such a degree, that he gave her a
scapulary. After he had given it, however, one of the saints in heaven
informed him in a vision, that the holy scapulary must not remain on
the neck of so great a sinner; and that it must be restored to the
church. She lay down that night with the scapulary round her throat,
but in the morning was found dead, with her head cut off, and the
scapulary was discovered in the church. The belief was, that the devil
could not endure to have so holy a thing on one of his servants, and
had pulled so hard to get it off, as to draw the silken thread with
which it was tied, through her neck; after which, by some divine power
it was restored to the church.

Another story was as follows. A poor Roman Catholic was once taken
prisoner by the heretics. He had a _sainte scapulaire_ on his neck,
when God seeing him in the midst of his foes, took it from his neck by
a miracle, and held it up in the air above the throng of heretics; more
than one hundred of whom were converted, by seeing it thus
supernaturally suspended.

I had been informed by the Superior, on my first admission as a nun,
that there was a subterraneous passage, leading from the cellar of our
Convent into that of the Congregational Nunnery; but, though I had so
often visited the cellar, I had never seen it. One day, after I had
been received three or four months, I was sent to walk through it upon
my knees with another nun, as a penance. This, and other penances, were
sometimes put upon us by the priests, without any reason assigned. The
common way, indeed, was to tell us of the sin for which a penance was
imposed, but we were left many times to conjecture. Now and then the
priests would inform us at a subsequent confession, when he happened to
recollect something about it, as I thought, and not because he
reflected, or cared much about the subject.

The nun who was with me led me through the cellar, passing to the right
of the secret burying place, and showed me the door of the
subterraneous passage, which was at the extremity towards the
Congregational Nunnery. The reasons why I had not noticed it before, I
presume, were that it was made to shut close and even with the wall,
and all that part of the cellar was whitewashed. The door, which is of
wood, and square, opens with a latch into a passage, about four feet
and a half high. We immediately got upon our knees, commenced saying
the prayers required, and began to move slowly along the dark and
narrow passage. It may be fifty or sixty feet in length; when we
reached the end, we opened a door, and found ourselves in the cellar of
the Congregational Nunnery, at some distance from the outer wall; for
the covered way is carried in towards the middle of the cellar by two
low partitions covered at the top. By the side of the door, was placed
a list of names of the Black nuns, with a slide, that might be drawn
over any of them. We covered our names in this manner, as evidence of
having performed the duty assigned us; and then returned backwards on
our knees, by the way we had come. This penance I repeatedly performed
afterwards; and by this way, as I have occasion elsewhere to mention,
nuns from the Congregational Nunnery, sometimes entered our Convent for
worse purposes.

We were frequently assured, that miracles are still performed; and
pains were taken to impress us deeply on this subject. The Superior
often spoke to us of the Virgin Mary's pincushion, the remains of which
it is pretended are preserved in the Convent, though it has crumbled
quite to dust. We regarded this relic with such veneration, that we
were afraid even to look at it, and we often heard the following story
related, when the subject was introduced.

A priest in Jerusalem once had a vision, in which he was informed that
the house in which the Virgin had lived, should be removed from its
foundations, and transported to a distance. He did not think the
communication was from God, and therefore disregarded it; but the house
was soon after missed, which convinced him that the vision was true,
and he told where the house might be found. A picture of the house is
preserved in the Nunnery, and was sometimes shown us. There are also
wax figures of Joseph sawing wood, and Jesus as a child, picking up the
chips. We were taught to sing a little song relating to this, the
chorus of which I remember.

"Saint Joseph charpentier,
Petit Jesus ramassait les copeaux
Pour fair bouillir la marmite."

St. Joseph was a carpenter, little Jesus collected chips to make the
pot boil.

I began to speak of miracles, and I recollect a story of one, about a
family in Italy saved from shipwreck by a priest, who were in
consequence converted and had two sons honoured with the priest's
office.

I had heard before I entered the Convent, about a great fire which
destroyed a number of houses in the Quebec suburbs, and which some said
the Bishop extinguished with holy water. I once heard a Catholic and a
Protestant disputing on this subject, and when I went to the
Congregational Nunnery, I sometimes heard the children, alluding to the
same story, say at an alarm of fire, "Is it a Catholic fire? Then why
does not the Bishop run?"

Among the topics on which the bishop addressed the nuns in the Convent
this was one. He told us the story one day, and said he could have
sooner interfered and stopped the flames, but that at last, finding
they were about to destroy too many Catholic houses, he threw holy
water on the fire, and extinguished it. I believed this, and also
thought that he was able to put out any fire, but that he never did it,
except when inspired.

The holy water which the Bishop had consecrated, was considered much
more efficacious, than any blessed by a common priest; and this it was
which was used in the Convent in sprinkling our beds. It had virtue in
it, to keep off any evil spirits.

Now that I was a nun, I was occasionally sent to read lectures to the
novices, as other nuns had been while I was a novice. There were but
few of us, who were thought capable of reading English well enough, and
therefore, I was more frequently sent than I might otherwise have been.
The Superior often said to me, as I was going among the novices:

"Try to convert them--save their souls--you know you will have a higher
place in heaven for every one you convert."

For whatever reason, Mad Jane Ray seemed to take great delight in
crossing and provoking the Superior and old nuns; and often she would
cause an interruption when it was most inconvenient and displeasing to
them. The preservation of silence was insisted upon most rigidly, and
penances of such a nature were imposed for breaking it, that it was a
constant source of uneasiness with me, to know that I might infringe
the rules in so many ways, and that inattention might at any moment
subject me to something very unpleasant. During the periods of
meditation, therefore, and those of lecture, work, and repose, I kept a
strict guard upon myself, to escape penances, as well as to avoid sin;
and the silence of the other nuns, convinced me that they were equally
watchful, and from the same motives.

My feelings, however, varied at different times, and so did those of
many, if not all my companions, excepting the older ones, who took
their turns in watching us. We sometimes felt disposed for gaiety, and
threw off all ideas that talking was sinful, even when forbidden by the
rules of the Convent. And even when I felt that I might perhaps be
doing wrong, I reflected that confession, and certainly penance, would
soon wipe off the guilt.

I may remark here, that I ere long found out several things, important
to be known, to a person living under such rules. One of these was,
that it was much better to confess to a priest, a sin committed against
the rules, because he would not require one of the penances I most
disliked, viz.: those which exposed of me to the observation of the
nuns, or which demanded self-debasement before them, like begging their
pardon, kissing the floor, or the Superior's feet, &c., and, besides,
he as a confessor was said to be bound to secrecy, and could not inform
the Superior against me. My conscience being as effectually unburthened
by my confession to the priest, as I had been taught to believe, I
therefore preferred not to tell my sins to any one else; and this
course I found was preferred by others for the same good reasons.

To Jane Ray, however, it sometimes appeared to be a matter of perfect
indifference, who knew her violations of rule, or to what penances she
exposed herself.

Often and often, while perfect silence prevailed among the nuns, at
meditation, or while nothing was to be heard except the voice of the
reader appointed for the day, no matter whose life or writings were
presented for our contemplations, Jane would break forth with some
remark or question, that would attract general attention, and often
cause a long and total interruption. Sometimes she would make some
harmless remark or inquiry aloud, as if through mere inadvertency, and
then her well-known voice, so strongly associated with every thing
singular and ridiculous, would arrest the attention of us all, and
generally incline us to smile, and even force us to laugh. The Superior
would then usually utter some hasty remonstrance, and many a time have
I heard her pronounce some penance upon her; but Jane had ever some
apology ready, or some reply calculated to irritate still farther, or
to prove to every one, that no punishment would be effectual on her.
Sometimes this singular woman would appear to be actuated by opposite
feelings and motives; for although she usually delighted in drawing
others into difficulty, and has thrown many a severe penance even upon
her greatest favourites; on other occasions she appeared totally
regardless of consequences herself, and preferred to take all the
blame, anxious only to shield others.

I have repeatedly known her to break silence in the community, as if
she had no object, or none beyond that of causing disturbance, or
exciting a smile, and as soon as it was noticed, exclaim: "Say it's me,
say it's me!"

Sometimes she would even expose herself to punishments in place of
another who was guilty; and thus I found it difficult fully to
understand her. In some cases she seemed decidedly out of her wits, as
the Superior and priests commonly preferred to represent her; but
generally I saw in her what prevented me from accounting her insane.

Among her most common tricks were such as these: She gave me the name
of the "Devout English Reader," because I was often appointed to make
the lecture to the English girls; and sometimes, after taking a seat
near me, under pretence of deafness, would whisper it in my hearing,
because she knew my want of self-command when excited to laughter. Thus
she often exposed me to penances for a breach of decorum, and set me to
biting my lips, to avoid laughing outright in the midst of a solemn
lecture. "Oh! you devout English Reader!" would sometimes come upon me
suddenly from her lips, with something in it so ludicrous that I had to
exert myself to the utmost to avoid observation.

This came so often at one time, that I grew uneasy, and told her I must
confess it, to unburden my conscience; I had not done so before,
because she would complain of me, for giving way to temptation.

Sometimes she would pass behind us as we stood at dinner ready to sit
down, and softly moving back our chairs, leave us to fall down upon the
floor. This she repeatedly has done; and While we were laughing
together, she would spring forward, kneel to the Superior, and beg her
pardon and a penance.

CHAPTER XI.

Alarming Order from the Superior--Proceed to execute it--Scene in an
upper Room--Sentence of Death, and Murder--My own distress--Reports
made to friends of St. Francis.

But I must now come to one deed, in which I had some part, and which I
look back upon with greater horror and pain, than any occurrences in
the Convent, in which I was not the principal sufferer. It is not
necessary for me to attempt to excuse myself in this or any other case.
Those who have any disposition to judge fairly, will exercise their own
judgment in making allowances for me, under the fear and force, the
commands and examples, around me. I, therefore, shall confine myself,
as usual, to the simple narrative of facts. The time was about five
months after I took the veil; the weather was cool, perhaps in
September or October. One day, the Superior sent for me and several
other nuns, to receive her commands at a particular room. We found the
Bishop and some priests with her; and speaking in an unusual tone of
fierceness and authority, she said, "Go to the room for the Examination
of Conscience, and drag Saint Francis up-stairs." Nothing more was
necessary than this unusual command, with the tone and manner which,
accompanied it, to excite in me most gloomy anticipation. It did not
strike me as strange, that St. Francis should be in the room to which
the Superior directed us. It was an apartment to which we were often
sent to prepare for the communion, and to which we voluntarily went,
whenever we felt the compunctions which our ignorance of duty, and the
misinstructions we received, inclined us to seek relief from
self-reproach. Indeed, I had seen her there a little before. What
terrified me was, first, the Superior's angry manner, second, the
expression she used, being a French term, whose [illegible] we had
learnt in the Convent, and whose meaning is rather softened when
translated into _drag_; third, the place to which we were directed to
take the interesting young nun, and the persons assembled there as I
supposed to condemn her. My fears were such, concerning the fate that
awaited her, and my horror at the idea that she was in some way to be
sacrificed, that I would have given any thing to be allowed to stay
where I was. But I feared the consequence of disobeying the Superior,
and proceeded with the rest towards the room for the examination of
conscience.

The room to which we were to proceed from that, was in the second
story, and the place of many a scene of a shameful nature. It is
sufficient for me to say, after what I have said in other parts of this
book, that things had there occurred which made me regard the place
with the greatest disgust Saint Francis had appeared melancholy for
some time. I well knew that she had cause, for she had been repeatedly
subject to trials which I need not name--our common lot. When we
reached the room where we had been bidden to seek her, I entered the
door, my companions standing behind me, as the place was so small as
hardly to hold five persons at a time. The young nun was standing alone
near the middle of the room; she was probably about twenty, with light
hair, blue eyes, and a very fair complexion. I spoke to her in a
compassionate voice, but at the same time with such a decided manner,
that she comprehended my full meaning--

"Saint Francis, we are sent for you."

Several others spoke kindly to her, but two addressed her very harshly.
The poor creature turned round with a look of meekness, and without
expressing any unwillingness or fear, without even speaking a word,
resigned herself to our hands. The tears came into my eyes. I had not a
moment's doubt that she considered her fate as sealed, and was already
beyond the fear of death. She was conducted, or rather hurried to the
staircase, which was near by, and then seized by her limbs and clothes,
and in fact almost dragged up-stairs, in the sense the Superior had
intended. I laid my own hands upon her--I took hold of her too,--more
gentle indeed than some of the rest; yet I encouraged and assisted them
in carrying her. I could not avoid it. My refusal would not have saved
her, nor prevented her being carried up; it would only have exposed me
to some severe punishment, as I believed some of my companions, would
have seized the first opportunity to complain of me.

All the way up the staircase, Saint Francis spoke not a word, nor made
the slightest resistance. When we entered with her the room to which
she was ordered, my heart sank within me. The Bishop, the Lady
Superior, and five priests, viz. Bonin, Richards, Savage, and two
others, I now ascertained, were assembled for her trial, on some charge
of great importance.

When we had brought our prisoner before them, Father Richards began to
question her, and she made ready but calm replies. I cannot pretend to
give a connected account of what ensued: my feelings were wrought up to
such a pitch, that I knew not what I did, nor what to do. I was under a
terrible apprehension that, if I betrayed my feelings which almost
overcame me, I should fall under the displeasure of the cold-blooded
persecutors of my poor innocent sister; and this fear on the one hand,
with the distress I felt for her on the other, rendered me almost
frantic. As soon as I entered the room, I had stepped into a corner, on
the left of the entrance, where I might partially support myself, by
leaning against the wall, between the door and window. This support was
all that prevented me from falling to the floor, for the confusion of
my thoughts was so great, that only a few of the words I heard spoken
on either side made any lasting impression upon me. I felt as if struck
with some insupportable blow; and death would not have been more
frightful to me. I am inclined to the belief, that Father Richards
wished to shield the poor prisoner from the severity of her fate, by
drawing from her expressions that might bear a favorable construction.
He asked her, among other things, if she was not sorry for what she had
been overheard to say, (for she had been betrayed by one of the nuns,)
and if she would not prefer confinement in the cells, to the punishment
which was threatened her. But the Bishop soon interrupted him, and it
was easy to perceive, that he considered her fate as sealed, and was
determined she should not escape. In reply to some of the questions put
to her, she was silent; to others I heard her voice reply that she did
not repent of words she had uttered, though they had been reported by
some of the nuns who had heard them; that she still wished to escape
from the Convent; and that she had firmly resolved to resist every
attempt to compel her to the commission of crimes which she detested.
She added, that she would rather die than cause the murder of harmless
babes.

"That is enough, finish her!" said the Bishop.

Two nuns instantly fell upon the young woman, and in obedience to
directions, given by the Superior, prepared to execute her sentence.

She still maintained all the calmness and submission of a lamb. Some of
those who took part in this transaction, I believe, were as unwilling
as myself; but of others I can safely say, that I believe they
delighted in it. Their conduct certainly exhibited a most blood-thirsty
spirit. But, above all others present, and above all human fiends I
ever saw, I think Sainte Hypolite was the most diabolical. She engaged
in the horrid task with all alacrity, and assumed from choice the most
revolting parts to be performed. She seized a gag, forced it into the
mouth of the poor nun, and when it was fixed between her extended jaws,
so as to keep them open at their greatest possible distance, took hold
of the straps fastened at each end of the stick, crossed them behind
the helpless head of the victim, and drew them tight through the loop
prepared, as a fastening.

The bed which had always stood in one part of the room, still remained
there; though the screen, which had usually been placed before it, and
was made of thick muslin, with only a crevice through which a person
behind might look out, had been folded up on its hinges in the form of
a W, and placed in a corner. On the bed the prisoner was laid with her
face upward, and then bound with cords, so that she could not move. In
an instant another bed was thrown upon her. One of the priests, named
Bonin, sprung like a fury first upon it, and stamped upon it, with all
his force. He was speedily followed by the nuns, until there were as
many upon the bed as could find room, and all did what they could, not
only to smother, but to bruise her. Some stood up and jumped upon the
poor girl with their feet, some with their knees, and others in
different ways seemed to seek how they might best beat the breath out
of her body, and mangle it, without coming in direct contact with it,
or seeing the effects of their violence. During this time, my feelings
were almost too strong to be endured. I felt stupefied, and was
scarcely conscious of what I did. Still, fear for myself remained in a
sufficient degree to induce me to some exertion, and I attempted to
talk to those who stood next, partly that I might have an excuse for
turning away from the dreadful scene.

After the lapse of fifteen or twenty minutes, and when it was presumed
that the sufferer had been smothered, and crushed to death, Father
Bonin and the nuns ceased to trample upon her, and stepped from the
bed. All was motionless and silent beneath it.

They then began to laugh at such inhuman thoughts as occurred to some
of them, rallying each other in the most unfeeling manner, and
ridiculing me for the feelings which I in vain endeavoured to conceal.
They alluded to the resignation of our murdered companion, and one of
them tauntingly said, "She would have made a good Catholic martyr."
After spending some moments in such conversation, one of them asked if
the corpse should be removed. The Superior said it had better remain a
little while. After waiting a short time longer, the feather-bed was
taken off, the cords unloosed, and the body taken by the nuns and
dragged down stairs. I was informed that it was taken into the cellar,
and thrown unceremoniously into the hole which I have already
described, covered with a great quantity of lime, and afterwards
sprinkled with a liquid, of the properties and name of which I am
ignorant. This liquid I have seen poured into the hole from large
bottles, after the necks were broken off, and have heard that it is
used in France to prevent the effluvia rising from cemeteries.

I did not soon recover from the shock caused by this scene; indeed it
still recurs to me, with most gloomy impressions. The next day there
was a melancholy aspect over everything, and recreation time passed in
the dullest manner; scarcely anything was said above a whisper.

I never heard much said afterward about Saint Francis.

I spoke with one of the nuns, a few words, one day, but we were all
cautioned not to expose ourselves very far, and could not place much
reliance in each other. The murdered nun had been brought to her
shocking end through the treachery of one of our number, in whom she
confided.

I never knew with certainty who had reported her remarks to the
Superior, but suspicion fastened on one, and I never could regard her
but with detestation.

I was more inclined to blame her than some of those employed in the
execution; for there could have been no necessity for the betrayal of
her feelings. We all knew how to avoid exposing each other.

I was often sent by the Superior to overhear what was said by novices
and nuns: when they seemed to shun her, she would say, "Go and listen,
they are speaking English;" and though I obeyed her, I never informed
her against them. If I wished to clear my conscience, I would go to a
priest, and confess, knowing that he dared not communicate what I said
to any person, and that he would not impose as heavy penances as the
Superior.

We were always at liberty to choose another confessor when we had any
sin to confess, which we were unwilling to tell one to whom we should
otherwise have gone.

Not long after the murder just related, a young woman came to the
nunnery, and asked for permission to see Saint Francis. It was my
former friend, with whom I had been an assistant teacher, Miss Louise
Bousquet, of St. Denis. From this, I supposed the murdered nun might
have come from that town, or its vicinity. The only answer returned to
the inquiry was, that Saint Francis was dead.

Some time afterward, some of St. Francis' friends called to inquire
after her, and they were told that she had died a glorious death; and
further told, that she made some heavenly expressions, which were
repeated in order to satisfy her friends.

CHAPTER XII.

The pictures in the room of the Three States were large, and painted by
some artist who understood how to make horrible ones. They appeared to
be stuck to the walls. The light is admitted from small and high
windows, which are curtained, and is rather faint, so as to make every
thing look gloomy. The story told us was, that they were painted by an
artist to whom God had given power to represent things exactly they are
in heaven, hell, and purgatory.

In heaven, the picture of which hangs on one side of the apartment,
multitudes of nuns and priests are put in the highest places, with the
Virgin Mary at the head, St. Peter and other saints far above the great
numbers of good Catholics of other classes, who were crowded in below.

In purgatory are multitudes of people; and in one part, called "_The
place of lambs_," are infants who died unbaptized. "_The place of
darkness_," is that part of purgatory in which adults are collected;
and there they are surrounded with flames, waiting to be delivered by
the prayers of the living.

In hell, the picture of which, and that of purgatory, were on the wall
opposite that of heaven, the human faces were the most horrible that
can be imagined. Persons of different descriptions were represented,
with the most distorted features, ghastly complexions, and every
variety of dreadful expression; some with wild beasts gnawing at their
heads, others furiously biting the iron bars which kept them in, with
looks which could not fail to make a spectator shudder.

I could hardly persuade myself that the figures were not living, and
the impression they made on my feelings was powerful. I was often shown
the place where nuns go who break their vows, as a warning. It is the
hottest place in hell, and worse, in every point of view, even than
that to which Protestants are assigned; because they are not so much to
be blamed, as we were sometimes assured, as their ministers and the
Bible, by which they are perverted.

Whenever I was shut in that room, as I was several times, I prayed for
"les âmes des fidèles trépassés:" the souls of those faithful ones who
have long been in purgatory, and have no relations living to pray for
them.

My feelings were often of the most painful description, while I
remained alone with those frightful pictures.

Jane Ray was once put in, and uttered the most dreadful shrieks. Some
of the old nuns proposed to the Superior to have her gagged: "No" she
replied; "go and let out that devil, she makes me sin more than all the
rest."

Jane could not endure the place; and she afterward gave names to many
of the worst figures in the pictures. On catechism-days she would take
a seat behind a cupboard-door, where the priest could not see her,
while she faced the nuns, and would make us laugh. "You are not so
attentive to your lesson as you used to be," he would begin to say,
while we were endeavouring to suppress our laughter.

Jane would then hold up the first letter of some priest's name, whom
she had before compared with one of the faces in "hell," and look so
that we could hardly preserve our gravity. I remember she named the
wretch who was biting at the bars of hell, with a serpent gnawing his
head, with chains and padlocks on, Father Dufresne; and she would
say--"Does not he look like him, when he comes in to Catechism with his
long solemn face, and begins his speeches with, 'My children, my hope
is, you have lived very devout lives?'"

The first time I went to confession after taking the veil, I found
abundant evidence that the priests did not treat even that ceremony,
which is called a solemn sacrament, with respect enough to lay aside
the detestable and shameless character they so often showed on other
occasions. The confessor sometimes sat in the room of examination of
conscience, and sometimes in the Superior's room, and always alone,
except the nun who was confessing. He had a common chair placed in the
middle of the floor, and instead of being placed behind a grate, or
lattice, as in the chapel, had nothing before or around him. There were
no spectators to observe him, and of course any such thing would have
been unnecessary.

A number of nuns usually confessed on the same day, but only one could
be admitted into the room at the time. They took their places just
without the door, on their knees, and went through the preparation
prescribed by the rules of confession; repeating certain prayers, which
always occupy a considerable time. When one was ready, she rose from
her knees, entered, and closed the door behind her; and no other one
even dared touch the latch until she came out.

I shall not tell what was transacted at such times, under the pretence
of confessing, and receiving absolution from sin: far more guilt was
often incurred than pardoned; and crimes of a deep die were committed,
while trifling irregularities, in childish ceremonies, were treated as
serious offences. I cannot persuade myself to speak plainly on such a
subject, as I must offend the virtuous ear. I can only say, that
suspicion cannot do any injustice to the priests, because their sins
cannot be exaggerated.

Some idea may be formed of the manner in which even such women as many
of my sister nuns were regarded the confessors, when I state, that
there was often a contest among us, to avoid entering the apartment as
long as we could, endeavouring to make each other go first, as that was
what most of us dreaded.

During the long and tedious days, which filled up the time between the
occurrences I have mentioned, nothing, or little took place to keep up
our spirits. We were fatigued in body with labour, or with sitting,
debilitated by the long continuance of our religious exercises, and
depressed in feelings by our miserable and hopeless condition. Nothing
but the humors of mad Jane Ray, could rouse us for a moment from our
languor and melancholy.

To mention all her devices, would require more room than is here
allowed, and a memory of almost all her words and actions for years. I
had early become a favourite with her, and had opportunity to learn
more of her character than most of the other nuns. As this may be best
learnt from hearing what she did, I will here recount a few of her
tricks, just as they happen to present themselves to my memory, without
regard to the order of time.

She one day, in an unaccountable humour, sprinkled the floor
plentifully with holy water, which brought upon her a severe lecture
from the Superior, as might have been expected. The Superior said it
was a heinous offence; she had wasted holy water enough to save many
souls from purgatory; and what would they not give for it! She then
ordered Jane to sit in the middle of the floor, and when the priest
came, he was informed of her offence. Instead, however, of imposing one
of those penances to which she had often been subjected, but with so
little effect, he said to her, "Go to your place, Jane; we forgive you
for this time."

I was once set to iron aprons with Jane; aprons and
pocket-handkerchiefs are the only articles of dress which are ever
ironed in the Convent. As soon as we were alone, she remarked, "Well,
we are free from the rules, while we are at this work;" and although
she knew she had no reason for saying so, she began to sing, and I soon
joined her, and thus we spent the time, while we were at work, to the
neglect of the prayers we ought to have said.

We had no idea that we were in danger of being overheard, but it
happened that the Superior was overhead all the time, with several
nuns, who were preparing for confession: she came down and said, "How
is this?" Jane Ray coolly replied, that we had employed our time in
singing hymns, and referred to me. I was afraid to confirm so direct a
falsehood, in order to deceive the Superior, though I had often told
more injurious ones of her fabrication, or at her orders, and said very
little in reply to Jane's request.

The Superior plainly saw the trick that was attempted, and ordered us
both to the room for the examination of conscience, where we remained
till night, without a mouthful to eat. The time was not, however,
unoccupied; I received such a lecture from Jane, as I have very seldom
heard, and she was so angry with me that we did not speak to each other
for two weeks.

At length she found something to complain of against me, had me
subjected to a penance, which led to our begging each other's pardon,
and we became perfectly satisfied, reconciled, and as good friends as
ever.

One of the most disgusting penances we ever had to submit to, was that
of drinking the water in which the Superior had washed her feet. Nobody
could ever laugh at this penance except Jane Ray. She would pretend to
comfort us, by saying, she was sure it was better than mere plain,
clear water.

Some of the tricks which I remember, were played by Jane with nuns'
clothes. It was a rule that the oldest aprons in use should go to the
youngest received, and the old nuns were to wear all the new ones. On
four different occasions, Jane stole into the sleeping-room at night,
and unobserved by the watch, changed a great part of the aprons,
placing them by the beds of nuns to whom they did not belong. The
consequence was, that in the morning they dressed themselves in such
haste, as never to discover the mistakes they made, until they were all
ranged at prayers; and then the ridiculous appearance which many of
them cut, disturbed the long devotions. I laugh so easily, that on such
occasions, I usually incurred a full share of penances, I generally,
however, got a new apron, when Jane played this trick; for it was part
of her object, to give the best aprons to her favourites, and put off
the ragged ones on some of the old nuns whom she most hated.

Jane once lost her pocket-handkerchief. The penance for such an offence
is, to go without any for five weeks. For this she had no relish, and
requested me to pick one from some of the nuns on the way up-stairs. I
succeeded in getting two: this Jane said was one too many; and she
thought it dangerous for either of us to keep it, lest a search should
be made. Very soon the two nuns were complaining that they had lost
their handkerchiefs, and wondering what could have become of them, as
they were sure that they had been careful. Jane seized an opportunity,
and slipped one into a straw bed, where it remained until the bed was
emptied to be filled with new straw.

As the winter was coming on, one year, she complained to me that we
were not as well supplied with warm night-clothes as two of the nuns
she named, whom she said she "abominated." She soon after found means
to get possession of their fine warm flannel nightgowns, one of which
she gave to me, while the other she put on at bed time. She presumed
the owners would have a secret search for them; and in the morning hid
them in the stove, after the fire had gone out, which was kindled a
little before the hour of rising, and then suffered to burn down.

This she did every morning, taking them out at night, through the
winter. The poor nuns who owned the garments were afraid to complain of
their loss, lest they should have some penance laid on them, and
nothing was ever said about them. When the weather began to grow warm
in the spring Jane returned the nightgowns to the beds of the nuns,
from whom she had borrowed them, and they were probably as much
surprised to find them again, as they had before been at losing them.

Jane once found an opportunity to fill her apron with a quantity of
fine apples, called _fameuses_, which came in her way, and, hastening
up to the sleeping-room, hid them under my bed. Then, coming down, she
informed me, and we agreed to apply for leave to make our elevens, as
it is called. The meaning of this is, to repeat a certain round of
prayers, for nine days in succession, to some saint we choose to
address for assistance, in becoming more charitable, affectionate or
something else. We easily obtained permission, and hastened up-stairs
to begin our nine days' feast on the apples; when, much to our
surprise, they had all been taken away, and there was no way to avoid
the disagreeable fate we had brought upon ourselves. Jane therefore
began to search the beds of the other nuns; but not finding any trace
of the apples, she became doubly vexed and stuck pins in those which
belonged to her enemies.

When bedtime came, they were much scratched in getting in bed, which
made them break silence, and that subjected them to penances.

CHAPTER XIII.

Jane Ray's Tricks continued--The Broomstick
Ghost--Sleep-walking--Salted Cider--Changing Beds--Objects of some of
her Tricks--Feigned Humility--Alarm--Treatment of a new Nun--A nun made
by stratagem.

One night, Jane, who had been sweeping the sleeping-room, for a
penance, dressed up the broom-stick, when she had completed her work,
with a white cloth on the end, so tied as to resemble an old woman
dressed in white, with long arms sticking out. This she stuck through a
broken pane of glass, and placed it so that it appeared to be looking
in at the window, by the font of holy water. There it remained until
the nuns came up to bed. The first who stopped at the font, to dip her
finger in, caught a glimpse of the singular object, and started with
terror. The next was equally terrified, as she approached, and the next
and the next.

We all believed in ghosts; and it was not wonderful that such an object
should cause alarm, especially as it was but a short time after the
death of one of the nuns. Thus they went on, each getting a fright in
turn, yet all afraid to speak. At length, one more alarmed, or with
less presence of mind than the rest, exclaimed, "Oh, mon Dieu! Je ne me
coucherais pas!" When the night-watch called out, "Who's that?" she
confessed she had broken silence, but pointed at the cause; and then,
all the nuns assembling at a distance from the window, Jane offered to
advance boldly, and ascertain the nature of the apparition, which they
thought a most resolute intention. We all stood looking on, when she
stepped to the window, drew in the broomstick, and showed us the
ridiculous puppet, which had alarmed so many superstitious fears.

Some of her greatest feats she performed as a sleep walker. Whether she
ever walked in her sleep or not, I am unable with certainty, to say.
She however often imposed upon the Superior and old nuns, by making
them think so, when I knew she did not; and yet, I cannot positively
say that she always did. I have remarked, that one of the old nuns was
always placed in our sleeping-room at night, to watch us. Sometimes she
would be inattentive, and sometimes fall into a doze. Jane Ray often
seized such times to rise from her bed, and walk about, occasionally
seizing one of the nuns in bed, in order to frighten her. This she
generally affected; and many times we have all been awakened, by
screams of terror. In our alarm, some of us frequently broke silence,
and gave occasion to the Superior to lay us under penances. Many tunes,
however, we escaped with a mere reprimand, while Jane usually received
expressions of compassion:--"Poor creature! she would not do so if she
were in perfect possession of her reason." And Jane displayed her
customary artfulness, in keeping up the false impression. As soon as
she perceived that the old nun was likely to observe her, she would
throw her arms about, or appear unconscious of what she was doing,
falling upon a bed, or standing stock-still, until exertions had been
made to rouse her from her supposed lethargy.

We were once allowed to drink cider at dinner, which was quite an
extraordinary favour. Jane, however, on account of her negligence of
all work, was denied the privilege, which she much resented. The next
day when dinner arrived, we began to taste our new drink, but it was so
salt we could not swallow it. Those of us who at first discovered it,
were, as usual, afraid to speak; but we set down our cups, and looked
round, till the others made the same discovery, which they all soon
did, and most of them in the same manner. Some, however, at length,
taken by surprise, uttered some ludicrous exclamation, on tasting the
salted cider, and then an old nun, looking cross, would cry out:--

"Ah! tu casses la silence!" (Ah! you've broken silence.)

And thus we soon got a-laughing, beyond our power of suppressing it. At
recreation, that day, the first question asked by many of us, was, "How
did you like your cider?"

Jane Ray never had a fixed place to sleep in. When the weather began to
grow warm in the spring, she usually pushed some bed out of its place,
near a window, and put her own beside it; and when the winter
approached, she would choose a spot near the stove, and occupy it with
her bed, in spite of all remonstrance. We were all convinced that it
was generally best to yield to her.

She was often set to work, in different ways; but, whenever she was
dissatisfied with doing any thing, would devise some trick that would
make the Superior, or old nuns, drive her off; and whenever any
suspicion was expressed, of her being in her right mind, she would say,
that she did not know what she was doing; that all the difficulty arose
from her repeating prayers too much, which wearied and distracted her
mind.

I was once directed to assist Jane Ray, in shifting the beds of the
nuns. When we came to those of some of the sisters, whom she most
disliked, she said, now we will pay them for some of the penances we
have suffered on their account; and taking some thistles, she mixed
them with the straw. At night, the first of them who got into bed, felt
the thistles, and cried out. The night-watch exclaimed, as usual, "You
are breaking silence there." And then another screamed, as she was
scratched by the thistles and another. The old nun then called on all
who had broken silence to rise, and ordered them to sleep under their
beds, as a penance, which they silently complied with. Jane and I
afterward confessed, when it was all over, and took some trifling
penance which the priest imposed.

Those nuns who fell most under the displeasure of mad Jane Ray, as I
have intimated before, were those who had the reputation of being most
ready to inform of the trifling faults of others and especially those
who acted without any regard to honour, by disclosing what they had
pretended to listen to in confidence. Several of the worst tempered
"saints" she held in abhorrence; and I have heard her say, that such
and such, she abominated. Many a trick did she play upon these, some of
which were painful to them in their consequences, and a good number of
them have never been traced to this day. Of all the nuns, however, none
other was regarded by her with so much detestation as Saint Hypolite;
for she was always believed to have betrayed Saint Francis, and to have
caused her murder. She was looked upon by us as the voluntary cause of
her death, and of the crime which those of us committed, who,
unwillingly, took part in her execution. We, on the contrary, being
under the worst of fears for ourselves, in case of refusing to obey our
masters and mistress, thought ourselves chargeable with less guilt, as
unwilling assistants in a scene, which it was impossible for us to
prevent or delay. Jane has often spoken to me of the suspected
informer, and always in terms of the greatest bitterness.

The Superior sometimes expressed commiseration for mad Jane Ray, but I
never could tell whether she really believed her insane or not. I was
always inclined to think that she was willing to put up with some of
her tricks, because they served to divert our minds from the painful
and depressing circumstances in which we were placed. I knew the
Superior's powers and habits of deception also, and that she would
deceive us as willingly as any one else.

Sometimes she proposed to send Jane to St. Anne's, a place near Quebec,
celebrated for the pilgrimages made to it by persons differently
afflicted. It is supposed that some peculiar virtue exists there, which
will restore health to the sick; and I have heard stories told in
corroboration of the common belief. Many lame and blind persons, with
others, visit St. Anne's every year, some of whom may be seen
travelling on foot, and begging their food. The Superior would
sometimes say that it was a pity that a woman like Jane Ray, capable of
being so useful, should be unable to do her duties in consequence of a
malady which she thought might be cured by a visit to St Anne's.

Yet to St. Anne's Jane never was sent, and her wild and various tricks
continued as before. The rules of silence, which the others were so
scrupulous in observing, she set at naught every hour; and as for other
rules, she regarded them with as little respect when they stood in her
way. She would now and then step out and stop the clock by which our
exercises were regulated, and sometimes, in this manner, lengthened out
our recreations till near twelve. At last the old nuns began to watch
against such a trick, and would occasionally go out to see if the clock
was going.

She once made a request that she might not eat with the other nuns,
which was granted, as it seemed to proceed from a spirit of genuine
humility, which made her regard herself as unworthy of our society.

It being most convenient, she was sent to the Superior's table to make
her meals after her; and it did not at first occur to the Superior,
that Jane, in this manner, profited by the change, by getting much
better food than the rest of us. Thus there seemed to be always
something deeper than anybody at first suspected, at the bottom of
everything she did.

She was once directed to sweep a community-room, under the
sleeping-chamber. This office had before been assigned to the other
nuns, as a penance; but the Superior, considering that Jane Ray did
little or nothing, determined thus to furnish her with some employment.

She declared to us that she would not sweep it long, as we might soon
be assured. It happened that the stove by which that community-room was
warmed in the winter, had its pipe carried through the floor of our
sleeping-chamber, and thence across it, in a direction opposite that in
which the pipe of our stove was carried. It being then warm weather,
the first-mentioned pipe had been taken down, and the hole left
unstopped. After we had all retired to our beds, and while engaged in
our silent prayers, we were suddenly alarmed by a bright blaze of fire,
which burst from the hole in the floor, and threw sparks all around us.
We thought the building was burning, and uttered cries of terror
regardless of the penances, the fear of which generally kept us silent.

The utmost confusion prevailed; for although we had solemnly vowed
never to flee from the Convent even if it was on fire, we were
extremely alarmed, and could not repress our feelings. We soon learnt
the cause, for the flames ceased in a moment or two, and it was found
that mad Jane Ray, after sweeping a little in the room beneath, had
stuck a quantity of wet powder on the end of her broom, thrust it up
through the hole in the ceiling into our apartment, and with a lighted
paper set it on fire.

The date of this alarm I must refer to a time soon after that of the
election riots, for I recollect that she found means to get possession
of some of the powder which was prepared at that time, for an emergency
to which some thought the Convent was exposed.

She once asked for pen and paper, and when the Superior told her that
if she wrote to her friends she must see it, she replied, that it was
for no such purpose; she wanted to write her confession, and thus make
it once for all. She wrote it, handed it to the priest, and he gave it
to the Superior, who read it to us. It was full of offences which she
had never committed, evidently written to throw ridicule on
confessions, and one of the most ludicrous productions I ever saw.

Our bedsteads were made with narrow boards laid across them, on which
the beds were laid. One day, while we were in the bedchamber together,
she proposed that we should misplace these boards. This was done, so
that at night nearly a dozen nuns fell down upon the floor on getting
into bed. A good deal of confusion naturally ensued, but the authors
were not discovered. I was so conscience-stricken, however, that a week
afterward, while we examined our consciences together, I told her I
must confess the sin the next day. She replied, "Do as you like, but
you will be sorry for it."

The next day, when we came before the Superior, I was just going to
kneel and confess, when Jane, almost without giving me time to shut the
door, threw herself at the Superior's feet, and confessed the trick,
and a penance was immediately laid on me for the sin I had concealed.

There was an old nun, who was a famous talker, whom used to call La
Mère, (Mother). One night, Jane Ray got up, and secretly changed the
caps of several of the nuns, and hers among the rest. In the morning
there was great confusion, and such a scene as seldom occurred. She was
severely blamed by La Mère, having been informed against by some of the
nuns; and at last became so much enraged, that she attacked the old
woman, and even took her by the throat. La Mère called on all present
to come to her assistance, and several nuns interfered. Jane seized the
opportunity afforded in the confusion to beat some of her worst enemies
quite severely, and afterwards said, that she had intended to kill some
of the rascally informers.

For a time Jane made us laugh so much at prayers, that the Superior
forbade her going down with us to morning prayers, and she took the
opportunity to sleep in the morning. When this was found out, she was
forbidden to get into her bed again after leaving it, and then she
would creep under it and take a nap on the floor. This she told us of
one day, but threatened us if we ever betrayed her. At length, she was
missed at breakfast, as she would sometimes oversleep herself, and the
Superior began to be more strict, and always inquired, in the morning
whether Jane Ray was in her place. When the question was general, none
of us answered; but when it was addressed to some nun near her by name,
as, "Saint Eustace, is Jane Ray in her place?" then we had to reply.

Of all the scenes that occurred during my stay in the Convent, there
was none which excited the delight of Jane more than one which took
place in the chapel one day at mass, though I never had any particular
reason to suppose that she had brought it about.

Some person, unknown to me to this day, had put some substance or
other, of a most nauseous smell, into the hat of a little boy, who
attended at the altar, and he, without observing the trick, put it upon
his head. In the midst of the ceremonies he approached some of the
nuns, who were almost suffocated with the odour; and as he occasionally
moved from place to place some of them began to beckon to him to stand
further off, and to hold their noses, with looks of disgust. The boy
was quite unconscious of the cause of the difficulty, and paid them no
attention; but the confusion soon became so great, through the distress
of some, and the laughing of others, that the Superior noticed the
circumstance, and beckoned to the boy to withdraw. All attempts,
however, to engage us in any work, prayer, or meditation, were found
ineffectual. Whenever the circumstances in the chapel came to mind, we
would laugh out. We had got into such a state, that we could not easily
restrain ourselves. The Superior, yielding to necessity, allowed us
recreation for the whole day.

The Superior used sometimes to send Jane to instruct the novices in
their English prayers. She would proceed to her task with all
seriousness; but sometimes chose the most ridiculous, as well as
irreverent passages, from songs, and other things, which she had before
somewhere learnt, which would set us, who understood her, laughing. One
of her rhymes, I recollect, began with:

"The Lord of love, look from above,
Upon this turkey hen."

Jane for a time slept opposite me, and often in the night would rise,
unobserved, and slip into my bed, to talk with me, which she did in a
low whisper, and return again with equal caution.

She would tell me of the tricks she had played, and such as she
meditated, and sometimes make me laugh so loud, that I had much to do
in the morning with begging pardons, and doing penances.

One winter's day, she was sent to light a fire; but after she had done
so, remarked privately to some of us: "My fingers were too cold--you'll
see if I do it again." The next day, there was a great stir in the
house, because it was said that mad Jane Ray had been seized with a fit
while making a fire, and she was taken up apparently insensible, and
conveyed to her bed. She complained to me, who visited her in the
course of the day, that she was likely to starve, as food was denied
her; and I was persuaded to pin a stocking under my dress, and secretly
put food into it from the table. This I afterward carried to her and
relieved her wants.

One of the things which I blamed Jane most for, was a disposition to
quarrel with any nun who seemed to be winning the favour of the
Superior. She would never rest until she had brought such a one into
some difficulty.

We were allowed but little soap; and Jane, when she found her supply
nearly gone, would take the first piece she could find. One day there
was a general search made for a large piece that was missed; when, soon
after I had been searched, Jane Ray passed me and slipped it into my
pocket; she was soon after searched herself and then secretly came for
it again.

While I recall these particulars of our nunnery, and refer so often to
the conduct and language of one of the nuns, I cannot speak of some
things which I believed or suspected, on account of my want of
sufficient knowledge. But it is a pity you have not Jane Ray for a
witness; she knows many things of which I am ignorant. She must be in
possession of facts that should be known. Her long residence in the
Convent, her habits of roaming about it, and of observing every thing,
must have made her acquainted with things which would be heard with
interest. I always felt as if she knew everything. She would often go
and listen, or look through the cracks into the Superior's room, while
any of the priests were closeted with her, and sometimes would come and
tell me what she witnessed. I felt myself bound to confess in such
cases, and always did so.

She knew, however, that I only told it to the priest or to the
Superior, and without mentioning the name of my informant, which I was
at liberty to withhold, so that she was not found out. I often said to
her, "Don't tell me, Jane, for I must confess it." She would reply:

"It is better for you to confess it than for me." I thus became, even
against my will, informed of scenes, supposed by the actors of them to
be secret.

Jane Ray once persuaded me to accompany her into the Superior's room,
to hide with her under the sofa, and await the appearance of a visitor
whom she expected, that we might overhear what passed between them. We
had been long concealed, when the Superior came in alone and sat for
some time, when fearing she might detect us in the stillness which
prevailed, we began to repent of our temerity. At length however, she
suddenly withdrew, and thus afforded us a welcome opportunity to escape.

I was passing one day through a part of the cellar, where I had not
often occasion to go, when the toe of my shoe hit something. I tripped
and fell down. I rose again, and holding my lamp to see what had caused
my fall, I found an iron ring, fastened to a small square trapdoor.
This I had the curiosity to raise, and saw four or five steps leading
down, but there was not light enough to see more, and I feared to be
noticed by somebody and reported to the Superior; so closing the door
again, I left the spot. At first, I could not imagine the use for such
a passage; but it afterward occurred to me, that this might open to the
subterranean passage to the Seminary, for I never before could account
for the appearance of many of the priests, who often appeared and
disappeared among us, particularly at night, when I knew the gates were
closed. They could, as I now saw, come up to the door of the Superior's
room at any hour, then up the stairs into our sleeping-room, or where
they chose. And often they were in our beds before us.

I afterward ascertained that my conjectures were correct, and that a
secret communication was kept up, in this manner, between the two
institutions, at the end towards Notre Dame-street, at a considerable
depth under ground. I often afterward, met priests in the cellar, when
sent there for coal and other articles, as they had to pass up and down
the common cellar stairs on their way.

My wearisome daily prayers and labours, my pain of body, and depression
of mind which were so much increased by penances I had suffered, and
those which I constantly feared, and the feelings of shame, remorse,
and horror, which sometimes arose, brought me into a state which I
cannot describe.

In the first place, my frame was enfeebled by the uneasy postures I was
required to keep for so long a time during prayers. This alone I
thought was sufficient to undermine my health and destroy my life. An
hour and a half every morning I had to sit on the floor of the
community-room, with my feet under me, my body bent forward, and my
head hanging on one side--in a posture expressive of great humility, it
is true, but very fatiguing to keep for such an unreasonable length of
time. Often I found it impossible to avoid falling asleep in this
posture, which I could do without detection, by bending a little lower
than usually. The signal to rise, or the noise made by the rising of
the other nuns, then woke me, and I got up with the rest unobserved.

Before we took the posture just described, we had to kneel for a long
time without bending the body, keeping quite erect, with the exception
of the knees only, with the hands together before the breast. This I
found the most distressing attitude for me, and never assumed it
without feeling a sharp pain in my chest, which I often thought would
soon lead me to my grave--that is, to the great common receptacle for
the dead, under the chapel. And this upright kneeling posture we were
obliged to resume as soon as we rose from the half-sitting posture
first mentioned; so that I usually felt myself exhausted and near to
fainting before the conclusion of morning services.

I found the meditations extremely tedious, and often did I sink into
sleep while we were all seated in silence on the floor. When required
to tell my meditations, as it was thought to be of no great importance
what we said, I sometimes found I had nothing to tell but a dream, and
told that, which passed off very well.

Jane Ray appeared to be troubled still more than myself with wandering
thoughts; and when blamed for them, would reply, "I begin very well;
but directly I begin to think of some old friend of mine, and my
thoughts go a-wandering from one country to another."

Sometimes I confessed my falling asleep; and often the priests have
talked to me about the sin of sleeping in time of meditation. At last,
one of them proposed to me to prick myself with a pin, which I have
often done, and so roused myself for a time.

My close confinement in the Convent, and the want of opportunities to
breathe the open air, might have proved more injurious to me than they
did, had I not employed a part of my time in more active labours than
those of sewing, &c., to which I was chiefly confined. I took part
occasionally in some of the heavy work, as washing, &c.

The events which I am now to relate, occurred about five months after
my admission into the Convent as a nun; but I cannot fix the time with
precision, as I know not of any thing which took place in the world
about the same period. The circumstance I clearly remember; but, as I
have elsewhere remarked, we were not accustomed to keep any account of
time.

Information was given to us one day, that another novice was to be
admitted among us; and we were required to remember and mention her
often in our prayers, that

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